At The Zoo
by Hyaenaa
Summary: Skipper, an ex-CIA agent that now leads a team of private investigators, is hired to investigate the murder of a club owner. Through the convoluted nature of the case, he encounters a dangerously seductive dancer, corrupt law enforcement, and the ghosts of his past. Dedicated to Batmanskipper.
1. Skipper and Hans

**Chapter One: Skipper and Hans**

* * *

Experience over a period of years will escalate into an unchallenged wisdom of humanity. Infinitely, there is the discovery that life will go on, no matter what happens, no matter the twists and turns that it may take, no matter how convoluted it may become. In the end, only one thing was true: people will do anything for the sake of love.

Skipper was stressed beyond all compare as he looked over several sheets of paper. They crumpled slightly under his shaking hands as he set them down. Bills. His monetary situation was far from ideal; it wouldn't be long before he and his brothers would lose their office (which also had a dual function as their home) and be out on the streets. Even though they all collectively worked as private investigators for their self-made company - Penguin Eyes - they were basically flat out broke.

Ever since Skipper had left the CIA, he and his surrogate family had been struggling to keep their hands on meager funds. He was still adjusting to a normal life; the CIA had been his world in every sense of the meaning. Everything he did, he did with his job in mind. Life away from that was… Staggering.

Kowalski and Rico had never been nearly so invested in their work as he; while Kowalski was a well known scientist and useful in technology, Rico was his foil in the sense that he had an entirely erratic thought process that could not be tracked (Kowalski had tried). He had served as a demolition expert. Meanwhile, there was Private… Who really mainly functioned as the Penguin Eyes secretary. He was, in truth, nephew to Skipper's previous superior, Nigel. Nigel had made sure, when Skipper left, that he would take good care of Private.

The four of them considered each other adoptive brothers. After having left the agency, they scraped together some resources and managed to bring up Penguin Eyes. It wasn't particularly well known, but it was respected from those who did know of it. It didn't, however, earn them much money, of course, when Skipper refused almost every single job he was offered. Mostly it was just stressful to work on a commission basis; his world, now, was an unsettling hurricane of hues and shapes that he could not decipher. Every job he took on only added to his stress.

He sighed dramatically as he set the bills aside and raked a hand through his ebony hair. Life these days was difficult beyond all compare; he longed for the good old days. Skipper glanced over to the picture frame on his desk and picked it up, thumbing over the glass. He had kept it, even though it was outdated by eleven years.

Kowalski had left the CIA because he realized that his work would never be recognized, which was something that didn't sit well with him. Rico had left because he felt that there were far too many regulations; he liked leaving big messes behind, and the CIA didn't. Skipper hadn't left because of anything like that.

He was designated a partner whom he'd grown close to over a period of years. The two of them were practically inseparable; Hans and Skipper, the duo that could take on any mission. It wasn't a mission that separated them, though; it was waves upon waves of ocean as their ship plunged beneath the surface of endless water. Skipper made it. Hans didn't.

Ever since then, he'd never been able to work in a partnership again, struggled to pick up a gun without thinking about how Hans had learned to shoot with him, couldn't set foot on a boat without getting anxiety. He had dedicated years of his life to learning how to command a ship, and all his knowledge was swept away in exchange for dizziness and short breath in a matter of one night. He was only damaging to the CIA by that point in time.

Skipper set down the picture of Hans, reluctantly. He knew that reminiscing about their partnership, what was and what could have been, would only result in him experiencing nostalgia again. He didn't need that, not when he needed to focus on the bills and finding some way to pay them. Still, he couldn't resist allowing his mind to wander, even if only for a second or so...

* * *

" _Skippar, your arm!"_

 _Hans was fretting over him as Skipper waltzed into sick bay, a large gash marring his arm. Hans had been on medic duty that day, whereas Skipper had taken the time to go through the obstacle course several times. It hadn't gone without mistake, unfortunately._

" _It's just a scratch." Skipper shrugged with a weak chuckle, collapsing onto one of the beds._

 _Hans was not amused. "Tsk, Skippar. You need to be more careful on these trainings, ja?" He shook his head, gathering several bandages and some disinfectant._

" _Yeah, maybe." He muttered back. In truth, he'd more or less needed an excuse to come see Hans._

 _Skipper hissed as Hans dabbed his cut, but Hans only hummed to himself. Skipper fell silent as he listened to Hans humming the quiet melody to a song he didn't know. He was so distracted, he didn't even register right away when Hans had finished. Hans smiled at him delicately, his fingers brushing down past the bandaged cut and over his forearm, before shying away altogether. Skipper smiled back._

" _Your arm is gonna be ze good as new," Hans relayed to him in his endearing broken English. "So long as you treat it vell."_

 _Skipper shifted so that he was turned to face Hans, his smile softening into something tender. No one else ever saw him with that expression. "Well, it's easy to get distracted when you're not around."_

 _Hans sent him a wry, humored glance. "Are you saying zat you need me, Skippar?"_

 _Skipper's face flushed and he shrugged. It was often that he and Hans jokingly flirted, but as of late it had taken a slightly more serious turn. "Maybe I am."_

 _Hans looked down at his hands, as though there was something he wanted to say. Taking note of this, Skipper silently prompted him to speak, blinking up at him and drawing his hands to his own. Hans looked at him, and his smile became altogether timid as he drew his nerve together._

" _Skippar..."_

* * *

"Skipper?"

His head shot up from his desk and he set down the picture of Hans, again. Clearing his throat, he gestured for Kowalski to enter, who had been peeking in through his door. Kowalski shut the door quietly behind him, his face slightly bleak as he'd known that Skipper had been recalling the past; an activity he berated as unhealthy. The fact that he didn't say anything about it told Skipper that Kowalski had reason to stay on his good side that morning. He offered a forced smile, which Skipper returned.

"Something you have to tell me, soldier?" Skipper jokingly questioned.

Kowalski coughed out a laugh. "Ah… Well, we just received an email concerning a new job, Skipper."

Skipper's brow fell as his face became mirthless and he nodded, silently urging Kowalski to continue. Kowalski frowned in response, allowing his facade of pleasantry to drop, knowing that he'd just ruined what could have been the beginning of a good mood.

"I know you've been apprehensive about taking jobs lately, but this one should be easy! All we have to do is investigate a recent shooting." Kowalski paused, and when Skipper didn't prod him for more information, he continued anyway. "The owner of the club Park Zoo, Clemson Gidro, was recently shot by a man who goes by the name of Parker."

Skipper waved his hand, looking down at his desk as though there was something more important for him to attend to. Kowalski knew the routine, but this time, he wasn't about to let the case go so easy.

He stepped forth, determined. "...They're offering to pay the four of us fifty thousand dollars*. Each."

Skipper's head snapped back up and his eyes widened. "Fifty thousand! Why?"

Kowalski shrugged almost sheepishly. "I don't know; it seems like an easy enough case. But, what I do know is that the one hiring us was… Romantically involved with Clemson, so that's probably why."

Skipper shut his gaping mouth, swallowing as he mulled over this. Fifty thousand, each? That would certainly be able to get them out of debt, and then some. His eyes wandered over to the stack of bills that had accumulated. A case like this, and they wouldn't have to worry about working again for awhile. He then found himself looking at the picture of Hans; if his partner were alive with him then, he certainly would have wanted Skipper to take the case.

He sighed and stood, his chair sliding backwards as he did so. He turned and looked out the window behind his desk, watching the cars buzz by as he contemplated this. Two hundred thousand dollars for a measly case? It sounded too good to be true… But why should he look a gift horse in the mouth?

"Is it really going to be as easy as you say it will be?" Skipper muttered. "There isn't any more to it than just… Investigating a shooting?"

Kowalski nodded, though Skipper couldn't see. "Most definitely, sir."

Skipper turned around, and his eyes caught the picture of Hans once more, before he looked directly at Kowalski. "...Right. So, this hirer of ours is Clemson Gidro's lover? Email her back and tell her that we'll take the case. We'll meet with her tomorrow at her preferred location."

Kowalski practically jumped in excitement, his face lighting up. "Great, great!" He cheered, before he paused and fidgeted awkwardly, as though there was something more he wanted to say.

"Anything else?" Skipper rose a brow.

"No sir." Kowalski denied, before he sniffed loudly and nodded. "Well! I'm going to tell Private to send - an uh, email, then."

He departed skittishly, and before his footsteps completely faded, Skipper called after him. "Tell me when lunch is ready!"

Alone once more, Skipper sat back down in his chair and reclined. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, puffing as he mulled over what he'd just tied himself down to. Two hundred thousand dollars. His mind was still turning over that; though he knew each fifty was given to them individually, his brothers knew the importance of their monetary situation and would no doubt dedicate the bulk of it to getting them back up on their feet. After that, there would still be plenty of spending money for each of them…

He smiled at the thought. Rico would finally be able to buy that new knife he was always looking at, Private would finally get some pants that fit him, and Kowalski could get that telescope he drooled over. Skipper himself was mostly interested in getting a nice bottle of scotch to drink when it was just him and his memories of Hans, alone in the office.

Blowing out some thick smoke, Skipper took the picture of Hans into his hand once more and looked at it. Hans was smiling, so youthful and full of life, so generous and kind. Skipper pushed away the negative thoughts and focused on the happiness they'd shared, closing his eyes as his thumb brushed over the frame.

* * *

" _Skippar..."_

" _What is it, Hans?" Skipper's voice was accepting and calm. It wasn't often that Hans wanted to speak of something serious like this, so he was all ears. His thumb brushed over Hans' knuckles._

 _Hans sat down beside him on the bed, not making eye contact as he squeezed Skipper's hand. When his words came out, they were achingly soft and sincere. "...I vant to let you know zat you are ze most important person in my life."_

 _Skipper felt his face warm again and for a moment, he resisted the urge to embrace Hans, before giving in and pulling him into a warm hug. Hans returned it immediately, inhaling deeply. Skipper squeezed his arms around Hans' frame and shut his eyes. If there was a heaven, this was it._

" _You're the most important in mine, too." Skipper whispered back._

 _The two of them stayed like that, indulging in the warmth of the other, until they heard footsteps approaching. Nigel, their superior, could be heard speaking with another commanding officer. Reluctantly, the two of them pulled apart, knowing that their intimacy was somewhat frowned upon by the agency. Still, the two of them shared a secret smile, the unspoken feelings they had for each other seeping into the open, if only for a moment or so._

* * *

 ***$50,000 at the time would equate to about $100,000 today.**

 **This is only my second noir-esque story (the first being Across a Sea), so please excuse the tedium of my writing. I assure you, it is full of twists. It's also heavily influenced by the popular Barry Manilow song, Copacabana.  
**

 **This story is more or less a love letter to Batmanskipper, an author with captivating and thrilling stories who unintentionally acted as my mentor throughout the writing of not only this story but also The Throne of Flame.**

 **I will update once every other week. Enjoy!**


	2. To The Zoo

**Chapter Two: To The Zoo**

* * *

Skipper, Kowalski, Rico and Private had all squished together into their beat up old car. Rico was behind the wheel; normally, Skipper wasn't too terribly fond of his driving skills, but the lady who wanted to meet them was located in downtown, and Rico was the most familiar with that area. Not a fact Skipper was particularly happy about, either. He really needed to keep better tabs on where Rico went out at night, but then, Rico was sort of a wild spirit that could not be tamed.

Skipper drummed his fingers on the dashboard as Private stared out the window in excitement, not going out often as he wasn't allowed to leave unsupervised. Call Skipper protective, but Private was the youngest of them. He was a twenty six year old who still had the wonder of a child. Skipper was ten years his senior and he'd be damned if he ever allowed that sweet innocence to be crushed.

Kowalski set down some papers, folding them carefully onto his lap. He couldn't read for long in the car without getting nauseous, and Rico's driving never helped. "...There have only been a handful of articles on it, but it has been confirmed that Clemson was shot by Parker. What over, I'm not entirely sure. It happened in Park Zoo, though, right after one of the dance numbers. Some people say it was over one of the dancers..."

"What's Park Zoo?" Private piped up, his wide eyes never leaving the view outside.

"It's the cabaret Clemson owned," Kowalski explained. "It's sort of a swing dance club, except with… Well, a more modern edge."

"'n illegal 'dge." Rico chimed in, voice gruff as he swerved into another lane, causing all the passengers to jerk.

"Illegal," Skipper grunted. "No wonder she didn't want to go to the police... Let me guess. Drugs? Prostitution? Crime rings?"

"Well, it is downtown," Kowalski responded with a huff. "I'd mostly say it was drug crime, though. The police didn't stay there long, which indicates that they probably know it's bad news. I'd imagine foul play… You know how Dr. Blowhole is."

"She, Skipper?" Private questioned, completely oblivious to Kowalski's conclusion.

"Yes, the lady who hired us. Clemson's girlfriend or wife or whatever," Skipper muttered, unamused at Private's lack of intel. He jumped when Rico accelerated. "Rico! You just ran a red light."

Rico only chuckled darkly.

" _Anyway_ ," Kowalski drawled. "Parker shot Clemson, which resulted in his death. It was dismissed as self defense, so Parker got off without punishment."

"Well no wonder she's angry." Skipper stated grimly, his mouth forming a thin line. "So, what, all we have to do is prove that Parker is guilty?"

"That's the plan." Kowalski concurred, before he was slammed into Private. "Ugh, Rico, use your turn signals!"

Rico grunted out something incomprehensible before the car careened onto one of the side roads, practically flying down over the gravel. It was clear that they were in the most suspicious district of the city by that point; graffiti lined every dark building, wet roads covered in litter and lone men or women standing at every corner. Skipper scowled out the window, glancing back to Kowalski, who nodded at him.

"Hey Private, would you please read over some of these files for me, just to check if I missed anything?" Kowalski smiled at the young man.

Private absolutely beamed, nodding and saluting as he took the papers from Kowalski and began to scan over the words. Skipper sighed in relief, not having wanted Private to witness any of the less-than-legal things going on just outside their car. Just in time, too; Skipper watched dubiously as a man snorted cocaine off the sidewalk. Rico was the most used to it, violently shifting their car down an alleyway, past a plethora of shady buildings and then through yet another alley. Skipper and Kowalski both grunted as they were continuously thrown into the side of the car and then back. Rico wasn't a very calm driver.

At the end of the alley, a bright light was seen. Skipper was distracted from his disgruntled thoughts on Rico's driving as he focused on it, squinting when it drew closer. Suddenly, the car pushed out from between the buildings into the open street, and before them stood a structure that emanated grandeur.

A large, very clean and generally well maintained building loomed above their vehicle. Beside it was an enormous parking lot, filled to the brim. It outmatched by far any of the casinos Skipper had seen when he was in Monte Carlo, covered in gilded windows and shining lights. Atop the roof shot water, raining down on intervals from what must have been a fountain. In front of it were large, bright, curly letters, alight with countless bulbs. They spelled out 'Park Zoo'.

They all recovered from their momentary stun when Rico parked the car, sharply jerking everyone with his abrupt stop. Skipper shot him a glare of disapproval before he stepped out of the car, staggering slightly from the sight. Park Zoo was breathtaking from the outside - had their hirer seriously wanted to meet them here? He knew that it was the scene of the crime, but he would have assumed that they'd go over the details somewhere more quiet. Regardless, Clemson must have been loaded. Whoever owned the cabaret now was a lucky soul.

"Wow!" Private exclaimed, drawing him from his thoughts. "This place is spectacular!"

"Yes, it certainly is," Skipper murmured.

He continued to stare for a moment or so, long enough for his other brother to take initiative. Rico opened the door, and as the four of them entered, they were met with something that could only be described as a sensory overload.

Perfumes and colognes of the most potent and sensual types swept through the air like great puffs of smoke. Fantastical colors of every hue and shade in convoluted designs painted every wall and floor, great large pillars of strong decoration highlighting their way in through the entrance. It extended from a narrow hall into a wide room, which was where the commotion arose from. Lining the corners of the room were countless tables, circular and covered in pristine white cloth. Well dressed men and women sat around them, clad in suits and dresses of the most expensive caliber. But that was nothing in contrast to the main attraction.

Thumping electro swing boasted from the speakers all around the room, loud and overpowering. In the center of the room, the floor was cleared for any patrons who were interested in dancing to the sounds of the jazzy dance music, and they ecstatically shimmied to the beat. Adjacent from the opening was where the stage was located; tall and ebony was it's foundation, if only to further accentuate the exciting burlesque dancers who were enacting an intricate number.

It was extravaganza in every sense of the word. Showgirls in feathery headdresses and tight, sparkly corsets flitted around the stage, spinning with extreme precision in their high heels. Lights bounced and changed and shifted to highlight them, shooting out over the audience and then back to the stage, every color imaginable. A modern rendition of the Moulin Rouge, a party that would have put Gatsby to shame. Skipper had been to places like this before, but never were they so intense.

He and his brothers were pulled out of their stupor when a waiter approached them. The man was short and very young looking - younger than Private, even. Skipper was sure he was far too young to be legally working there, but then, he was also sure that Clemson Gidro had probably been involved in organized crime. The waiter smiled at them gleefully.

"Oh, hello there! Are you four from the Penguin Eyes?" He questioned in a very squeaky voice.

"Yes." Skipper affirmed, glancing over to his boys then back. "You knew we'd be here?"

The waiter giggled. "Of course, sillies! I'm Mort, I'll be doing your serving today! Stay right here, I'm going to go get you a table. Be back soon!"

He rushed off, maneuvering through the crowd, gone just as quick as he arrived. Skipper stared after him awkwardly, a little off-put. Apparently the miss who'd hired them had told the staff, which was odd in it's own. What exactly was going on here? He exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Kowalski, who shrugged, probably thinking the same thing.

Suddenly and without warning, the music stopped playing, and the room fell silent. The lights shut off completely, engulfing everyone in darkness. Skipper tensed, immediately thinking that there was some sort of attack going on, but was frozen in disbelief when one singular spotlight lit up over the stage.

In it's ray stood a dark skinned man, clothed in shimmering gold satin harem pants, two rich, deep red silk ribbons that wrapped around his chest like a vest, matching jewels over his arms and neck and waist, and large, extravagant golden ostrich feathers. Some of them were around his waist towards the back, running so thick and long down that they seemed like an enormous peacock tail, and the rest were above his head in an ornate headdress, completely framing his head with the grandiose, luxurious feathers and more of the flashy jewels. His hair was charcoal black, bright amber eyes covered in dark smoky eyeshadow and thick lashes, beguiling when they fell half-lidded.

For a moment he stood still, everyone in the room holding their breath, but time only held for a second or so. He sashayed his thick hips, stepping forth, and the spotlight followed him like it was just as drawn to his tantalizing presence as Skipper was, who was openly gaping by that point in time. Upbeat music began to flow from the speakers once more, sultry and alluring. Slowly, the lights around him began to turn back on, but the light over the main dancer remained the brightest. He ran his hands down his front, drawing up carnal hoots and hollers from the viewers. The showgirls now danced as background, only made to foil the main dancer's uncanny presence of sheer amor.

Suddenly, the bass bellowed and a stage from within the stage shot up, putting the main dancer on a pedestal above. He shook his hips from side to side in sync with the thumping tune, raising his hands over his head in a hedonistic manner, dark thick lips raised into a lavish smile. As he gyrated and twisted his hips, Skipper couldn't help but feel his face redden. Behind the dancer, water sparklers shot up, glowing gold beneath the lights. Around his bubble of sensuality swung acrobatic dancers, going from rope to rope as a mere backdrop of his performance.

It had been a long time since Skipper had felt any sense of romantic or sexual interest in another, but this man… This man drew up a part of him that he couldn't deter. This man was irresistible. His sheer existence was enticing torment, which was why he was no doubt the main attraction. Even the assumingly heterosexual men around them seemed interested, if not intrigued altogether as they may have been questioning their long-time sexualities. Skipper had been well affirmed in his sexual identity for awhile, having had run-ins with both women and men, but he'd fallen into reclusion after leaving the CIA. It made it both easier and more difficult to understand his instantaneous feelings for this man.

The main dancer twirled pleasantly, catcalls rising from the audience as he danced to the beat. His body was like water, ever moving in fluidity, but his eyes seemed to coyly scan the audience. They locked onto Skipper and seemed to light up, before the dancer winked at him, and Skipper thought his heart might jump out of his chest altogether. It was as though the dancer had singled him out, sought him in particular to flirt with, even if only in the form of a meager wink. Skipper shut his jaw, blinking rapidly and straining his eyes.

"Kowalski," he breathlessly hissed to his surrogate brother, eyes never leaving the dancer. "Who is _that?_ "

"That, Skipper," Kowalski murmured, voice bemused. "Is the person who hired us."

Around them, the room exploded with shimmering confetti just as the music reached its peak.

* * *

 **Due to the request of one of my favorite readers, I have decided to update this once every week on Fridays. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Mouton

**Chapter Three: Mouton**

* * *

"Hi there! I have your table ready now!" Mort interrupted Skipper's shock, waving them over gleefully.

The four followed, uncomfortably seating themselves when they realized how out of place they were. Sure, they were all dressed in suits (save for Rico, who wore a muscle tee), but this was not their type of crowd. Despite being located in what was essentially the slums, it was intended to be enjoyed by the rich, powerful, and secretive. Mort smiled brightly when they all were situated, before pulling out a menu. Skipper distantly noted that he was holding it upside down.

"Would you like a drink? It's on the house!" Mort exclaimed.

Skipper rose a brow. Free drinks? The day was just full of surprises. Kowalski and Private politely declined by shaking their heads, but Rico shrugged and nodded. Skipper resisted the urge to snort.

"Sure." He replied. "I'll have-"

"Great!" Mort practically shouted, clapping his hands together and allowing the menu to crumple in his arms. "Be right back!"

He dashed off, leaving Skipper hanging mid-word in utter surprise. Indignantly, he settled in his seat with a grunt, before his glare was turned towards Kowalski. Kowalski didn't quite notice at first, picking at his watch, before he winced and looked up, knowing he was in trouble.

"Uh… Something the matter, sir?" He inquired sheepishly.

"Why didn't you tell me more about who hired us? I thought it was a dame!" He chastised.

Kowalski shrugged, fiddling with his napkin. "I didn't think it was too important… I don't know all that much about him, anyway. I just know his name is Julien, he's twenty eight, Malagasian, and that he's the main dancer here."

 _Julien_. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful man.

"And that he and Clemson were in love!" Private supplied enthusiastically, only to shrink back when Kowalski shot him a scowl.

"I wouldn't have guessed that Clemson was into men." Skipper muttered.

"Ehh," Rico spoke up, waving his hand back and forth.

"Rico's right," Kowalski nodded. "I don't think you have to be into men to be into Julien. He's sort of an exception, wouldn't you think?"

"What are you saying, Kowalski?" Skipper's tone dropped into something almost humored. "Are _you_ into Julien?"

"No." Kowalski immediately denied, frowning. "I just acknowledge aesthetically pleasing qualities when I see them. Honestly… I sort of think he's more _your_ type."

Skipper's visage darkened as it clicked with him, what Kowalski had been trying to pull off. Kowalski wanted Skipper and Julien to become an item, more likely than not to pull him out of his decade-long rut. An insulting notion on it's own, but even more so that Kowalski was disregarding the unprofessionalism of it. Relations with someone he'd work for? Skipper was just about to go off on him when Rico reclined in his chair, looking over to Julien.

"Mm, 'd prolly fuh 'im." Rico admit casually.

"Rico!" Skipper smacked his surrogate brother on the wrist. "Watch the language, Private's right here!"

"Oh, I don't mind a bit of naughty words," Private's sweet british accent almost dissuaded his anger. "It's all right."

"See, Rico? You're desensitizing him." Skipper pursed his lips in annoyance.

Rico made a soft whining sound, but was cut off when Mort returned, carrying two glasses in a very precarious position. He somehow managed to get through the crowd without spilling any, and rather enthusiastically placed the two drinks before Rico and Skipper.

"Okay, bye bye now! The show is almost over, which means Julien will be meeting with you soon. Enjoy!" Mort waved flamboyantly, practically skipping away.

Skipper sent him another look of disapproval, before he took the drink into his hand and examined it. It definitely wasn't something he was familiar with, at least, not right away. As soon as he tasted it, however, he recognized it.

"Rico!" He practically shouted, staring down at his cup with wide eyes. "This is a Mouton! I didn't think anyone would make them here in New York."

"A wuh?" Rico set down his now half-empty glass, pausing in his drinking to examine the liquid.

"The Chateau Mouton Rothschild," Kowalski mirrored Skipper's surprise. "They're usually only made in, well, France. Don't those sell for something like one thousand per drink? How did you ever get one before?"

"Monte Carlo." Skipper responded clinically before he turned back to his wine, swirling the ambrosia around in the glass. "I can't believe they just _gave_ us these…"

Rico looked down at his empty glass, having just downed the entire thing, before letting out a short chuckle. "...N'ce."

"Oh my," was all Private could manage in his chirpy tone. "Perhaps I should have said yes! I don't quite fancy alcohol, but if it's such a rare drink…"

Skipper glared at Private just in time for the lights to dim. The show was ending, and the four of them looked up to the stage as the deep crimson curtains drew shut, the crowd going wild with applause. Skipper felt suddenly nervous, realizing that he was just about to meet with the alluring man he'd felt smitten towards just minutes ago. He pushed down those feelings, though, repressing them. Regardless of how tempting it was, he had to remain professional if he wanted him and his brothers to get out of debt. There was no room for those sorts of feelings; especially not when Hans was waiting for him at home...

Not a moment later, the curtains reopened, revealing more showgirls who were ready to shake and dance for the entertainment of the Park Zoo customers. The crowd once again hooted, though with slight less enthusiasm they'd held for Julien, Skipper noted. He looked down at his wine, before taking a rather large gulp of it. It was certainly a refined liquor.

Julien was going to pay them two hundred thousand dollars to put Parker behind bars, and apparently he could spare another two thousand just to give them some nice drinks (or another four thousand, had Kowalski and Private accepted). Was this pocket money for the seductive dancer? Skipper winced, reminding himself that Julien was probably involved in the same organized crime that Clemson no doubt had been. Great.

His thoughts were stopped short when a door he hadn't noticed before, it being obstructed from his view, opened. Out of it stepped Julien, and it was as though the room slowed down in response to his casual presence. He was laughing at something from inside the room he was leaving, waving sweetly before he turned. He moved like a ghostly angel, seeming to float over the floor as he made his way past each table. His skin seemed to glow in the flashing room, his smile light and enticing as his eyes swept over the crowd. Skipper physically jumped when Julien's gaze locked onto him once more, and his visage seemed to brighten even further.

Julien closed in on them deliberately, rising more anticipatory nervousness in Skipper, who swallowed thickly, mouth feeling dry despite the expensive wine he tightly gripped. Julien was an ethereal man encased in golden jewels and silk, more rare and of more worth than the Chateau Mouton Rothschild by far. He was a god walking among mortals and he seemed to know it, flaunt it, in a manner that was somehow hard to discern as conceited. It was egotistical, yet humble, all in one bizarre way. He was Daisy Buchanan, Jessica Rabbit, Holli Would, Satine. He was a king. He was Julien.

Skipper took another sip of his wine, not even noticing when Kowalski elbowed Rico for making inappropriate sounds, just as Julien reached their table. He seated himself delicately beside Skipper in the extra chair, smiling widely. Now that Skipper could see him up close, he was even more speechless. Julien was gorgeous beyond all compare.

Repress, repress, repress.

"Hello there, you must be the Penguin Eyes. It is nice to be meeting you," Julien greeted them, tone captivating. Somehow, despite it being so quiet, it rose above the loudness of the crowd, drawing in the attention of the four he was addressing. "I am Julien Hira."

Skipper cleared his throat several times, before managing to conjure up the ability of speech (earning several strange looks from his tablemates). "Ah, yes… I am. I mean, we are. The Penguin Eyes, I mean."

Julien's intense gaze was fixed on him now, his smoldering amber eyes so transfixing that it took him an extra moment to register Julien's soft giggle at his incoherency. His expression was tender, almost exclusively loving as he was fixed on Skipper, playfully indulged in Skipper's nervousness. Skipper couldn't even bring himself to find such humor to be distasteful.

"We were hoping that you could help us find out more about the case before we really take it on." Kowalski intervened into their moment of silent staring, no doubt feeling awkward at the display.

Julien turned to Kowalski and his expression of solicitous intimacy transitioned into something more like woe. He sniffled in a very obviously feigned manner, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Oh yes, it is all very tragic! My dear Clemmyson has been the brutally murdered, by that evil Parker, who very totally deserves to be behind bars."

Kowalski, Rico, and Private all looked to each other dubiously, clearly noting that Julien was falsifying his sadness - for what reason, they weren't sure. Skipper, on the other hand, was still completely dazed and drawn in by Julien's aura, nodding in empathy towards his situation, even as a pained twinge ran across his visage. It was, to him, evident that Julien still had feelings for his deceased lover, which meant that Skipper himself had no chance (not that he wanted one, of course!).

Julien turned away, fanning himself dramatically as his eyes fell shut in melancholy mourning. "It is so being awful, you know? Parker is now running freely among the streets, maybe being able to shoot anyone else he is not liking! My sweet, loving Clemmyson is completely unavenged, and the police guys are not any help to me. I only need you to prove that he is not innocent, so that he can be put in the prisons!"

Julien opened an eye to peek at the private investigators, catching Skipper agreeing enthusiastically.

"Of course, Mr. Hira." Skipper assured, tone sincere.

"Oh please," Julien returned to his previous state of simplicity, no longer holding the conspicuous facade of dismay. "Just be calling me Julien, okay?"

Skipper took another shaking sip of his wine, reminding himself to repress, repress, _repress_. "S-sure."

Julien turned to Kowalski this time, almost professional in his now acquired tone. "I will send you an email with my whole side of the story, yes?"

Kowalski rose a brow. "That won't be necessary, thank you. I prefer to rely on cold, hard facts."

"Kowalski!" Skipper snapped, slapping his brother upside the head, before he looked back to Julien. "Don't mind him. By all means, please send it."

Julien smiled almost coyly. "Thank you, Skipper. This is meaning more to me than you might ever know."

Skipper was momentarily at a loss for words, smiling and nodding brightly. How Julien had managed to wrap him around his finger in a matter of a few minutes was astounding and ridiculous, but Skipper found himself not caring. Meanwhile, Kowalski was muttering under his breath, rubbing the side of his head.

"Well! I must be going." Julien rose to a stand. "My next show is to be coming up very soon, so I must be changing my outfit. Be sure to visit again soon, penguins?"

"We certainly shall," Private assured. "It was pleasant meeting you!"

"And you too!" Julien smiled, tilting his head, before his gaze tore away from the young one and was refocused on Skipper once more. "...Goodbye."

"Bye," Skipper replied weakly, throat dry.

For a fleeting moment, there was something almost yearning in Julien's irises, before it was swept away into that objective sensuality once more. He leaned down as he passed by Skipper on his way to the door, stroking down his back and leaving a waning whisper into his ear. " _I want you to uncover the truth._ "

With that he slid away, escaping Skipper's last melting glance of surprised lust, just in time to magnificently disappear behind the door he'd entered from. Skipper stared after his ghost of presence, before he attempted to recover by finishing off his wine.


	4. An Almost Clue

**Chapter Four: An Almost Clue**

* * *

Kowalski furiously typed away, attempting for the fifth time that evening to hack into what the police had documented on their case. He used to be able to do so with ease, but their security system had certainly updated over the last few years. Dr. Blowhole, the corrupt police chief who had ties with the CIA, had never been fond of Skipper or his team, and always liked to flaunt his role of power over them. Kowalski grit his teeth. Why did the bad guys always have the best security?

Julien had sent him a rather lengthy email, complete with missing punctuation and grammatically incorrect English. Kowalski hadn't even bothered to look through it; a biased witness account would do nothing to aid them in putting Parker in prison. Really, what was Julien thinking? If he knew anything about how the law worked (which he must've, if he was in the business Kowalski was sure he was in), he would have known that it would have only made him look desperate. Kowalski was, of course, still a bit bitter about Skipper publicly reprimanding him, but then he was also slightly smug about having known that Skipper would fall head over heels for Julien.

Kowalski had studied up a bit on Julien before approaching Skipper with the case. Julien was actually rather well known in the underground crowd. He was often referred to as the 'king of the lemurs', a title he earned from both his Madagascar-ties (not only was he an immigrant, but his last name literally meant 'ring-tailed lemur' in Malagasy), and his sense of regal presence. He was the star of the show down at Park Zoo and was often times the main reason patrons attended, if only to catch a glimpse of his alluring dance moves. Julien was a modern day sex symbol.

It was interesting to him that a _man_ had managed to pull off such an attractive appearance, but then, he realized no one really questioned it because they were far too busy being entranced by Julien's aura. Men and women of all sexualities and backgrounds could, at the very least, appreciate his attractive qualities. Kowalski was relieved that even Skipper could melt in his presence. Anything to get his brother out of his eleven year long mourning… It only seemed to get worse with each passing day.

Hans was dead and gone, had been for years, and Skipper needed to get over him. Kowalski himself had spent his time mourning over Hans, and was done with it, had moved on. The same applied to Rico and Private. Skipper, on the other hand, had a very interesting relationship with Hans. The two of them were closer than anyone else; Hans had made Skipper laugh and smile in ways no one else could, and the same applied from Skipper to Hans.

Kowalski would have ventured to say that the two of them were in love, and had never got to explore their relationship to the fullest, which was why Skipper could be found drinking himself to sleep on most nights, staring yearningly at Hans' picture that he kept on his desk. Even in his most unguarded states, he'd refrained from telling others what had truly happened that fateful night in Copenhagen. All Kowalski had discovered from case files was that there was some sort of terrible capsize that left Skipper without his foil and caused him to be far too scarred to ever set foot on a boat again.

But here was Julien, a hot sort of sexual icon to fix that. Sure, Skipper had lost his first love, and honestly, Kowalski knew the feeling - perhaps to a less tragic extent, but he grasped the concept. But Skipper didn't have to live his entire life in misery. He could find love anew, find something within Julien. Or at least - since Julien seemed to be somewhat of a floozy, perhaps even a prostitute - Skipper would at least come to the realization that it was never too late to try again. With or without Park Zoo's crown jewel.

What did strike Kowalski as odd, however, was that Julien seemed to particularly target Skipper with his affections. He addressed Skipper by name, even though Skipper had never introduced himself - which could be chalked up to the fact that their names could all be found on their website, but it was still very strange behavior. As was how Julien seemed to genuinely return Skipper's infatuation immediately, as though he'd already felt that way. Kowalski didn't mull over it too much, though; it made his life easier if the two of them would couple, and besides that, he didn't particularly grasp the notion of romance as well as others. Ask any of his ex girlfriends...

"Aha!" Kowalski exclaimed when he finally managed to break through the firewall.

He returned to his quick typing, knowing that he didn't have a lot of time. All he wanted was to get to the police files concerning Parker and get some intel that could hopefully prove the shooter guilty. As he managed to navigate through the intricate system, he found himself surprised when he reached his destination.

The files were surprisingly meager, almost entirely empty. Parker hadn't even been taken to jail over this, hadn't been interrogated, hadn't received a mug shot, hadn't even gone to court. In fact, he had suspicions that the police officers at the scene hadn't even held him for further questioning. His thoughts were proven correct when he looked further. Kowalski outright gasped when he found that there weren't even crime-scene pictures. The incident report was ridiculously succinct, reading:

 _At 5:45 PM Dispatch received a 911 call regarding a shooting at local club Park Zoo. (SENTENCE REDACTED). Police arrived at the scene at 6:05 PM and discovered the Clemson Gidro's body in the main room. (SENTENCE REDACTED). After confirming that the victim was deceased and identifying the shooter as Parker (SURNAME REDACTED) via a witness report from Maurice Hira (person 2), body of the deceased was given custody to (NAME REDACTED) and was removed from the scene at 6:12 PM. (SENTENCE REDACTED). The scene was unsealed at 6:30 PM and citizens were encouraged to carry on as usual._

A man had been shot! How was it that there was almost nothing?

 _Clearly_ there was some foul play going on. Then again, he surmised the police may have seen Clemson's death as a good thing, more or less. He was most likely the leading source of drug contraband in the city. His death meant less drugs for the underground crime rings, so maybe the police were happy about his death. Still, that only made things harder for them. Suddenly, that forty thousand dollars on the line didn't seem as reachable.

Kowalski squinted as he discovered something even more perplexing. He clicked on a file and found that the gun wasn't actually Parker's. It was registered under someone else's name. Before he could check who's it was, however, the door opened.

"Kowalski!" Skipper exclaimed. "You're not doing what I think you are, are you?"

"N-no sir!" Kowalski, startled, closed the program harshly, before cringing at the realization of what he'd done.

Skipper was clearly not convinced, sending him a wary glance of disapproval. "You know I don't like when you hack into the police system. Blowhole's always looking for a reason to put us out of business. If he found out…"

The man at the computer sighed. He knew that Skipper and Blowhole had always had a very… Strained relationship. Blowhole was another commanding officer in the CIA at one point and had always gotten into arguments with Nigel, particularly over the Red Squirrel - a long-time mutual enemy. Because his commanding officer had never liked Blowhole, neither had Skipper, and the feeling was rather requited. Even though Dr. Blowhole also functioned as a police chief, he also still had quite a bit of liberty in the CIA, which meant that he was always keeping an eye on Skipper in case he was ever given the opportunity to get rid of him.

"Yes, yes, I know. But I was just looking over what the police got on Parker, and you should know - they basically don't have anything on him!" Kowalski explained, trying to appeal. "Which, you must understand, is weird. I'm sure there's something going on here."

Skipper was evidently unconvinced. "You know Blowhole would put us out of business if he could, don't you? That damned madman has to stick his nose into everything, and when he hates someone, he despises them. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd kill us, first chance he could!"

Kowalski internally rolled his eyes. Skipper's paranoia tended to leak out at the most inopportune times, like when he was on the verge of discovering something that may or may not be critical to the case. Still, he relented. "Aye-aye, Skipper, I understand. I won't do it again."

Skipper rose a brow. "Really?"

"Really." Kowalski nodded.

A total and complete lie, but it was for Skipper's own benefit. He couldn't do very much to discover something on such a latent case aside from build from what evidence had already pooled, and the police had the most of it (even if it wasn't very much). He could very easily erase his digital footsteps and Blowhole would be none the wiser, but of course, Skipper wasn't quite tech savvy enough to understand that. He was smart, yes, tactically brilliant, but major hacking still bewildered him in the same way that Rico's tendency to knit sweaters in his sleep did Kowalski.

Skipper stared at him suspiciously for a moment or so, before he seemed to feel satisfied. With a resigned sigh, he spoke up once more. "Very well… Since you were snooping around, I may as well ask. What did you find?"

Kowalski resisted the smug grin that wanted to pull at his lips, knowing it would have annoyed his boss and brother. "...Not much, like I said, but that in itself is very strange. They didn't hold Parker for questioning of any kind, and boy! You should have seen the incident report. No crime scene pictures and almost every other sentence had been classified. It was very weird."

Skipper thought over this critically for a moment or so. "...That is strange… But I'm sure it has to do with Clemson's illegal behavior. The police were probably pretty happy to know that one of their threats had been wiped out."

A sigh and a nod. "I guess so, but it still does seem… Wrong, to me."

"Well, that's why Rico and Private are going back to Park Zoo to look over the crime scene again, to see if there's anything the police looked over. Which, I'm sure there is." Skipper leaned on the door frame.

Kowalski was slightly alarmed by this. "...You let Private go to Park Zoo… With Rico?"

"God knows we can't let either of them go by themselves," Skipper scoffed. "I would have gone, but I had… Important business to take care of here." His eyes slid back to the hall ever so slightly.

Knowing exactly what Skipper was really thinking, Kowalski's eyes narrowed. "You're not _cheating_ on Hans by seeing Julien. Hans isn't-"

"Kowalski!" Skipper snapped, loud enough that it actually startled his brother. "I'm not _seeing_ anyone, and don't you _dare_ say what I think you were going to say."

Kowalski's visage turned somber and sympathetic as he attempted to be compassionate. "...Skipper… You know it's true. Hans…"

Skipper looked at him so bitterly for a moment that Kowalski thought he hated him. "Shut up, Kowalski. That's an order."

Kowalski looked down at his knees, saddened enough that he listened briefly, before his voice arose once more, this time melancholy and earnest. "...It's okay to fall in love again, Skipper."

His surrogate brother, boss, and best friend looked at him as though he wanted to murder him. He had nothing more to say and instead turned on his heel, briskly stomping away from the room. Kowalski winced when he heard the door to Skipper's office and bedroom slam shut violently. He sighed, shaking his head.

 _...Hans isn't alive._


	5. Gossip

**At the Zoo: Gossip**

* * *

"Oh dear, Rico! We just ran a stop sign!" Private exclaimed, holding feverishly onto his seatbelt.

"Eh, whutt'ya gonna do?" Rico shrugged as he veered to the left, the tires screeching as he turned into a back alley.

Private covered his mouth, blinking miserably. Focusing on the road was certainly not helping his car sickness. He ducked down to steady his breathing just in time to miss the view of a man helping a prostitute into his car. Rico rolled his eyes at Private's weak stomach, but was also somewhat glad. He wasn't particularly fond of Private seeing anything illegal either, especially not after the 'talk' Skipper had given him about his internet history. He supposed it was back to him and his blow-up-doll, Miss Perky.

He was honestly somewhat surprised that Skipper didn't want to accompany them, but it probably had to do with Skipper's issues about liking people. Right off the bat, Rico could tell that Skipper had a thing for Julien (how could he not?), but Skipper was still pretty hung up about Hans. Rico had tried to be understanding in the first couple of years, even more so than Kowalski had, but he knew that it had been drawn on for too long. Still, he wasn't one to question Skipper's orders, ever. He even made an effort to avoid Kowalski on the way out, who always had a tendency to prod with questions.

Rico slowed down as they pulled up to the Park Zoo. The place was still just as booming as it had been and was, of course, still packed. Rico grumbled at first and settled for parking illegally. It wasn't as though they'd get ticketed, not around here. He waited an extra minute for Private to collect himself before leaving, making sure to keep his eyes on the younger kid. Maybe they were all a bit over protective, but it was hard to resist babying Private when he tended to remind themselves of their youth. Rico had become the way he had in a very different way than Skipper and Kowalski, much earlier than either of those two had faced their demons, but it was still almost a paternal instinct to keep watch on Private.

Private gave him a withering look of gratitude when Rico opened the door for him, steadying himself on Rico's shoulder as he departed. When he was on his feet, they entered the Zoo. Immediately they were greeted with a cacophony of music and cheering, in addition to the pleasant onslaught of smells. Sweat, perfume, and smoke - three things that indicated good news to Rico. The same was not necessarily said about Private, but luckily he was still too in awe of the flamboyant dancers to care.

One of the dancers was sitting at the desk in the main corridor, chatting on a phone. There were bright green feathers in her soft brown hair, accented by her pearl, sheer dress. Rico grinned to himself; she was pretty cute. He walked up to her, Private following like a puppy dog.

"...And we had to have music, I mean you wouldn't want things to get dreary, would you? So, just to keep everybody awake sorta, I asked a couple of boys down at the-" The woman paused as she noticed the two men nearing. "...Hold on Gloria, we gotta few customers here."

She gave them a finger to indicate a wait, but Rico didn't mind waiting for her, winking at her with a pleasant purr. Private elbowed him gently.

"Rhonda! Rhonda!" The woman called into the crowd, but her words were swallowed up by the music. She sighed dejectedly, before noticing another dancer waltz by. "Shelly, have you seen Rhonda anywhere? She's supposed to be checking people in."

The woman she addressed was very tall, with long long legs that were highlighted by brown ostrich feathers that swept by her feet as she walked. She'd looked like she was in somewhat of a hurry, but stopped the moment she saw Rico, and a smile crossed over her messily painted lips. "...I thought she was in the kitchen, sampling sweets again… But she sure is missing out on some cuties. I'd stay and chat if I didn't have a show in five, but geez, make sure the one with the nice hair leaves his number!"

Rico didn't resist the open cringe when Shelly winked at him before strutting off. She wasn't his type. This other girl fit the bill though, and he leaned on the desk with a suave smolder. She was unimpressed, sighing as she set aside the phone and looked over some of the tables and muttering to herself about no-good-waitress-roommates.

When she stood, she offered them a tired smile. "My name is Marlene. I can take you to your table now. Is it just the two of you?"

"Yeh," Rico responded with a simper as he smoothed back his hair. "Buh 't can j'st be the two o' _us_ , babeh."

"Rico!" Private exclaimed in mild distress. "Now's not the time, we're on an investigation!" He turned to Marlene, nervous and apologetic. "Terribly sorry about him."

Marlene paused in the midst of gathering menus, before looking up at them worriedly. "...An investigation…? You're not coppers, are you?"

Private laughed sweetly. "Of course not! We're just private eyes, here to investigate the death of Clemson."

Rico elbowed him with a grunt to let him know he was giving too much information, but Marlene was already intrigued. Letting her weight rest to one hip she rose a brow. "Oh! Well, I can tell you a bit about Clemson, if it'll help… As long as you aren't going to, you know, let the pigs know about some of the stuff that goes on here."

She winked and Rico sort of melted, but Private was unaffected by her beauty. He clapped his hands in excitement. "Oh, that would be just lovely!"

"Well. Clemson was the owner of Park Zoo. He started it up from the ground when he left New Jersey. I think he was involved in the Hoboken gangs before, but he never really talked much about it… Anyway. He and the main dancer, Julien, were an item." She blushed slightly, softly giggling as she gossiped. "Julien's a real doll, if you haven't met him!"

"We have," Private assured cheerily. "He's quite nice."

"He _sure_ is." She agreed, and Rico knew that she and Private were talking about two very different flavors of the word 'nice'. Marlene continued on, this time leaning in as though exposing something very juicy. "So anyway, Clemson and Julien were a couple. Sadly, though, Clemson wasn't the best boyfriend in the world… He was actually kinda abusive. Super controlling and possessive, and there were times when he hit Julien. The amount of times that I've found Becky and Stacy cleaning up his cuts, or let him borrow my foundation to cover up some nasty bruises… Yikes."

"Goodness! I had no idea that it was like _that_." Private frowned deeply, concern bubbling up in his features.

"Oh yeah. I mean, sometimes you could hear Clemson screaming at him above the music! No one ever said anything about it though. I think it's because Julien apparently loved Clemson no matter what." Marlene told them, her words drifting slightly as she recalled their relationship.

"But why?" Private questioned with a tilted head. "How could you possibly love someone who treated you so poorly?"

Marlene shrugged with a sad smile. "Sometimes that's just the way it is. I think deep down Clemson really cared about Julien too, though, even if he was awful at showing it… In his will, he said that Julien was supposed to inherit the club after he died. Weirdly enough, though, Julien's been really hesitant about it, like he doesn't want to or something."

That was some information they could probably use, and Rico finally spoke up. "Why n't?"

Marlene parted her pink lips to respond, but before she could get any words out, a gruff man cleared his throat. The three of them turned to see a very short, stout man, darkened slightly by the bright lights behind him. He stepped forth, expression slightly grim as he neared them.

"Oh, Maurice! I didn't see you there," Marlene laughed almost nervously, before stepping aside.

He glanced over to her with a slight tilt of the head to acknowledge her presence, before turning back to Rico and Private. "Are you the two from Penguin Eyes?"

Slightly dumbfounded, the two of them nodded.

Satisfied with this information, he gestured for the two of them to follow him. "I'm Maurice Hira, the Park Zoo financial advisor. Julien's waiting for the two of you in the back."

Rico and Private exchanged a dubious glance. They hadn't informed the Zoo that they'd be coming, so it was odd for Julien to have expected them. As they left, Marlene settled back into her seat, presumably to go back to chatting with her friend. The three of them weaved their way through the crowd before finding the door that led to the backrooms. Maurice glanced around slightly before letting them in. When they entered, they were met with the sight of male and female dancers running this way and that, hurriedly changing costumes as they went to and fro.

There was another series of doors in the hall behind the stage, many of which had signs on them to indicate what they were. Some were bathrooms, others were changing rooms, and one was a staircase. There was one unmarked one at the very end, though, which was the one Maurice led them through. The metal door swung closed behind them, leading them through yet another corridor. The sounds from the rest of the club were muffled by the thick walls. At the very end of the narrow hall was one last door, which was simply titled 'office'.

Before they entered, Private stopped Maurice, earning a look of mild displeasure. He shrunk back, giving a sheepish smile. "Terribly sorry, but… I couldn't help but notice you and Julien share the same last name. Are the two of you related?"

Rico would have said something else, more along the lines of 'how did Julien know we'd be here?', or, 'what does Julien want to talk about?' or, 'can you give me Marlene's number?'. But he let it slide, knowing that Private's sweet naivety was a weak spot for almost all.

Maurice rose his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised at the inquiry. "...You could say that. I've been a close family friend since the two of us lived back in Madagascar."

He left it at that, opening the office door. Private wasn't entirely satisfied, but he and Rico followed suit. The office was incredibly small, a tiny room that only fit a desk, a locker, and a few chairs. On the other side of the desk sat Julien, now wearing less revealing clothes, with folded hands as he'd waited patiently for the Penguin Eyes' arrival. He smiled brightly when they came in, and Rico and Private uncomfortably seated themselves in the two available chairs while Maurice stood.

"Ah, hello penguins! It is so good to be seeing you again." Julien's full lips tugged into an excited grin, exposing his bright white teeth.

"'Sup," Rico greeted.

"Hello Julien, it's wonderful to see you too." Private smiled uneasily. "Though… How did you know we'd be here?"

Julien glanced down at his nails, examining them for a moment or so as he replied. "I knew Skipper would be sending somebody in the soon times. I was hoping it could be the all of you though. If you could call him and ask him to be coming here - oh, and be bringing with him the sciencey guy, that would be great!"

Private and Rico were both a bit off-put by how Julien was capable of predicting Skipper's behavior, but Private was the first to speak up. "...Oh, I ah, see then. I apologize, but um, why do you need all of us here?"

Julien glanced up to him in his own form of confusion, before he pulled out a newspaper clipping and set it delicately on the desk. "Parker, the guy who did the killing of my sweet loving Clemmyson, has gone into hiding."


	6. Denmark

**Chapter Six: Denmark**

* * *

Copenhagen, Denmark.

It was a beautiful place. Skipper felt lucky to have visited it. Sure, it wasn't Monte Carlo, which he and Hans had visited last year for no apparent reason other than to enjoy a vacation, but it was still quite nice. He was pleased that the agency always partnered the two of them together, but he also knew it was, in part, due to the fact that Nigel saw a bit of himself in them. Before Nigel had gone solo, he had his own partner, Buck Rockgut (a personal hero of Skipper's), and Nigel had accounted, once or twice, that he and Hans mirrored them before things 'went bad'.

Skipper didn't think things would go bad for him and Hans though. They were truly the cream of the crop… Which was why he wasn't surprised that the two of them were assigned the mission that they were. Dr. Blowhole had placed another very high ranking officer to become a double agent for the Red Squirrel, and the two of them were meeting with her on the deluxe Copenhagen cruise. Though Hans and Skipper didn't really take orders from Blowhole, Nigel assured the two of them that it was a mission they couldn't miss.

It had been very carefully planned so that nothing could be traced back to the CIA, and it was up to Skipper and Hans to procure any information with utmost delicacy. It was their first night on the cruise, so they weren't supposed to meet with her yet and were instead to retire to their bunks rather early. Skipper didn't mind; the trip there was rather exhausting, even if he did spend much of the plane trip enjoying Hans leaning against his shoulder.

The two of them tiredly pulled their bags to their designated room. It was quite lavish, something Skipper noted immediately. Cream, unsmirched carpets, deep crimson walls with salmon accented swirls curling down the sides, and two large beds with egyptian cotton sheets. Skipper set his bag by one of the chestnut colored dressers and sighed happily, before glancing to Hans. His military partner had already began to strip down to his undergarments, revealing a lavender muscle-tee and orange boxers.

Skipper felt his face flush slightly and he looked away, out of respect. The two of them had seen each other indecent before, but it still enticed Skipper every time. He too took off his suit, before putting on a pair of softer pants and a tee shirt. When he glanced back to Hans, he caught the other man seated on the bed, staring at him. Hans didn't look away, instead only smiling warmly, and Skipper sat down on his own bed to face his long-time friend.

"Some trip, eh?" Hans grinned as he stretched out. "I am so excited to return to land. All zis flying, it is tiresome, you know?"

Skipper nodded in agreement. "Don't know how birds do it all the time."

Hans chuckled softly at the comment. "Lets hope zat if we were both birdies, we'd be ze flightless ones."

"Like what, ostriches?" Skipper grinned. "I don't think I'm tall enough."

Hans laughed at that, and he leaned forth to inspect Skipper for a moment or so, before pulling back. "Mmm, I'd see you more of a penguin."

"A penguin!" Skipper exclaimed, astonished and humored.

"Ja, a penguin, Skippsy! You know. Cute and cuddly?" Hans giggled.

Skipper laughed in response, shaking his head. "A penguin, huh? I don't know. Only if you were one too."

"Maybe," Hans smiled.

To himself, Skipper decided that from that moment forth, penguins were his favorite animals in the entire world. He fiddled with his sheets, attempting to keep his eyes away from Hans' long legs that were peeking out from his boxer shorts. Hans didn't seem to mind, though, and instead cleared his throat, gathering Skipper's attention once more. Skipper looked up to see Hans staring at him, grasping the edge of his bed nervously.

"Skippar…" Hans murmured softly, his smile now bashful.

"Yeah?" Skipper found himself breathlessly whispering the response, his eyes rapidly half-blinking when Hans leaned forward.

Hans didn't pull away this time though, instead timidly moving forth so that he and Skipper were inches apart. He paused, hesitant for a moment, but it was Skipper who made the decision for him by pushing their mouths together.

Hans' lips were soft and gentle against his, smooth and sweet and very very sincere. Skipper had kissed men and women before, but never before had he kissed so chastely, so genuinely, with so much love. Never before had he kissed Hans. It only lasted for a few seconds; when Hans shifted back, he gazed at Skipper with a shy, happy smile, biting his lip.

"...Goodnight, Skippar." He murmured, and with a soft giggle, he tucked himself back into bed and shut off the lamp beside his bed.

"Sweet dreams, Hans." Skipper replied after a moment of soft grinning, and he did the same.

He fell asleep that night, knowing that he and Hans were perfect for each other.

Skipper awoke, however, to perhaps the most terrifying sounds of his life. Years of training had caused him to grow accustomed to muster drills, but when the general emergency alarm woke you while you were sleeping on an _actual ship_ , it was pretty scary. Especially when your door was wide open and the only lights were coming from the alarm system, blinking a deep red.

" _Code delta. Abandon ship. Code delta. Abandon ship…_ " The captain's voice rang out above the alarm system, through the speakers. It continued on like that, on repeat, and Skipper uncomfortably came to the realization that it was a recording. How long had he been out?

He shot out of bed immediately. "Hans! Hans, there's an emergency! We have to get to our muster station!"

Skipper yanked down Hans' bedsheets, only to startle himself at the realization that Hans was not in bed. He looked around fruitlessly; his CIA partner was no where to be seen. Skipper wasn't sure what to assume, but he above all knew that he had to act quick. Reluctantly, he settled on the idea that maybe Hans had already gone to their station, and fled from the room.

The moment he left, he was met with a grisly sight. There was already water gathering in the hallway floor, and he could feel the tilt of the ship. He glared dubiously at the closed door adjacent, knowing that beyond it, where his muster station lie, the ship was almost completely capsized. He instead turned on his heel and ran upwards, listening to the alarms, the automated captain's voice, and the creaking of the ship.

When Skipper broke through to the top floor, where the deck was, the raging winds and rain were plummeting down upon the yacht. He couldn't tell if weather had been the source of damage or not, but he discovered something even more disturbing - he was completely alone. The other passengers, crewmembers and captain were no where in sight. They must've already abandoned ship. But where was Hans?

Skipper tore his radio out of his front pocket, and immediately contacted Nigel's station. It was only for emergency usage, but Skipper was fairly positive that this qualified.

"Come… -gent Skipper. State… Code." Nigel's disrupted voice came through after a moment.

"Mayday mayday mayday!" Skipper practically shouted above the howling wind. "Nature of emergency: ship capsizing! Last known position, Copenhagen port, Denmark! Send help, effective immediately!"

Nigel's voice was still distorted, but it came through more urgent this time around. "Where… Hans?"

"I'm not sure," Skipper's voice dropped slightly, almost relenting against the alarms. "I don't - I don't see anyone!"

"We're on... Way. Tracking... Hold on… Skipper!" The transmission ended with a sharp click.

Skipper made his way to the top of the ship, feeling it tilt even further. He looked around frantically, still seeing that he was entirely alone. Against the endless waves of ruthless water, he saw no lifeboats, no person of any kind. He held on tightly to the sides, but he knew that he couldn't leave the vessel without Hans.

"HANS!" He screamed, looking down at the rest of the capsizing ship. "HANS!"

The only sounds that returned his voice were the winds and alarms, the captain's automated message now completely drowned out. Skipper winced, knowing that just calling his teammate's name was useless. With a resigned inhale of determination, he jumped forth, allowing himself to drop into the water that the ship had now plunged itself into.

At first, it was a slap of agony when he made contact with it, but then his eyes adjusted and he was beneath the surface of water. Around him was the sinking ship, pushing itself further beneath waves. Skipper knew that this was the opposite of what he was supposed to do when a ship was capsizing, but if Hans was still somehow down there, he needed to save him.

Avoiding the urge to panic, Skipper swam down further, looking around. It was frightening, how void of life their ship was, as though it was inhabited solely by Skipper. He looked around for a little while, before he resurfaced, needing air. Taking an enormous gulp, Skipper plunged himself back under. He was freezing and he knew that he'd probably get hypothermia after this, but what if Hans was still down there?

Assuming that everyone had already left via lifeboats, what if Hans hadn't? Why hadn't Hans woken him? There must have been something wrong. If Hans had escaped, he would have made sure that Skipper too was safe, just as Skipper was attempting to do for him at that very moment. No, Hans was most certainly in danger.

Skipper managed to swim all the way down to their muster station, but he found that it was still empty. Even the bowels of the ship turned to be completely without human life. Skipper resurfaced once more, drawing in breath hungrily. He was shuddering, a freezing soaked mess and he was horribly panicked by that point in time.

Where was Hans?

 _Where?_

Skipper was just about to dive back under when bright, white lights and the sounds of helicopter wings interrupted him. He looked up, squinting amidst the black waters to see a ladder descending. On it was Nigel, who took hold of him, bringing him back up to the chopper.

For a moment, all was a blur, as Skipper was fretted over, covered in blankets and interrogated by his commanding officer. A resounding slap to his face brought him back to awareness, and he found himself face-to-face with Nigel, who was glowering at him with utmost seriousness.

"What were you thinking?" Nigel hissed. "You know better than to go back under!"

Skipper stared blankly, blinking slowly. "I… I had to find Hans…"

Nigel's face softened slightly at that, but he turned away, looking out the window as they flew further and further away from the capsizing yacht. "Skipper… I'm afraid that you were the only survivor."

Skipper was forced out of his stupor. "Wait, what? What do you mean?"

Nigel glanced back to him, frowning deeply and releasing a shuddering sigh. "...Anyone who made it off a lifeboat was swallowed by the sea."

"And… And Hans?" Skipper's voice broke, his hollow eyes tearing up in devastation.

Nigel shook his head.

Skipper's heart plummeted. He stood, the blankets falling from his damp shoulders as he stared at Nigel with wide, disbelieving eyes. One of the pilots glanced back to them with a firm frown, knowing they were witnessing the downfall of a great agent.

"No… No! Hans made it, I'm sure," Skipper denied. "If anyone made it, he did. People don't just _disappear_ like that!"

Nigel raked a hand through his hair. "Sometimes they do, agent Skipper. Especially in the ocean… I… I'm sorry."

Skipper remained standing for a moment or so, trying to work it out in his head that Hans - his partner, his best friend, the man he was in love with, was _gone_. He fell back into his seat, thinking of all the things he could have done to have prevented this, the ways he could have fixed the situation, the things he should have said before they went to bed.

None of it brought Hans back.


	7. Mixed Messages

**Chapter Seven: Mixed Messages**

In a dark, secluded room sat a slightly withered man, thirty five yet tired of life. He hadn't seen sunlight in years, hadn't known what it was like to lie in a bed, to see a real toilet as opposed to the drain in the corner of his perpetual prison. Three white walls surrounded him - sometimes he imagined that they turned into a blackened abyss and swallowed him up, leaving him to a peaceful requiem, but he was always harshly pulled back to reality by the fourth wall. It was twelve solid inches of plexiglass, and was often the source of his only communication.

His captor entered the opposing room, directly outside of the plexiglass wall, metal joints whirring softly. His prosthetic legs clicked against the smooth floor. He'd long since given up on a wheelchair, exchanging it for further mobility, something he took great pride in. The captive would have been supportive if not for his captor's unrelenting evil.

The man from the outside laughed when he saw his captive's aching, desperate, hollow stare. He tapped his fingers against each other with a wild grin. He knew that the younger man was hungry, starving even, from having not been fed properly in days. Meager rations and water was all that he was given. It was juvenile in contrast to the other methods of torture they'd used against him. The prisoner no longer had full mobility in his arms, from them having been broken, healed, and rebroken so many times over.

"You know it's your fault you're here," the captor taunted, not at all bothered by the fact that he could see his captive's ribcage. He instead settled for a devious grin. "If it hadn't been for what you did, all those years ago..."

"Someone will come for me soon." Murmured the broken voice of the captive. "Soon…"

"You've been more hopeful lately. That's nice," his tormenter nodded sardonically. "But I promise you, no one is coming. I've made _sure_ of it."

"We'll see," whispered back the voice of his captive.

The man burst into laughter, turning on his heel as he departed from the room again. As he did so, he made sure to tell the guards not to feed their prisoner at all that day.

Meanwhile, Skipper and Kowalski had just arrived at Park Zoo. Being that Rico and Private had taken the car, Skipper and Kowalski had to take the bus there, and then walk several blocks in order to actually reach the backwater club. They were both slightly disgruntled, especially considering their previous argument, but Kowalski was more smug than ever at the fact that Skipper had no choice but to see Julien. Skipper made a point to ignore that.

It was still astonishing for the both of them when they entered, how utterly fantastical the Zoo was. Loud noises, potent scents and flashing lights assaulted their senses. At the front desk, a dancer was casually seated, talking away on the phone. She glanced up to them and sighed, before telling her conversational partner that she'd call them back - again.

"Hi there," the woman greeted with a faint smile. "I'm Marlene. Is it just the two of you today?"

"Actually, we're here to see Julien." Skipper spoke up, wincing at the way Kowalski chuckled beneath his breath and shooting his friend a glare.

"Oh. Uh, I'm terribly sorry, but he doesn't… He isn't available for _that_ sort of thing," Marlene responded, taking on a rather uncomfortable expression. "If you want to know our available dancers and their rates, then I'd be happy to tell you."

"It's not like that!" Skipper immediately denied. Slightly flustered, he continued. "I mean, we have a meeting with him. We're from Penguin Eyes."

Well, at least Kowalski and Skipper both knew that Julien wasn't a prostitute.

"Oh. Oh!" Marlene exclaimed. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry! I thought… Well! Uh, okay then. Yeah, uh, lemme just…" Nervously, she began to stand up, smoothing out her slightly translucent white dress.

"Marlene, is everything all right here?" A smooth, soft, very high-pitched voice interrupted the mild turmoil.

The three of them turned to see a waitress, tall and beautiful, standing at the doorway. She had dark brown hair and fair, olive skin, striking blue eyes accented by her dark mascara and silver eyeshadow. She blinked up at them expectantly, smiling. Kowalski looked like he was about to faint, his mouth dropping open like he'd just seen an angel.

"Oh, Doris!" Marlene sounded relieved, shooting her co-worker a glad smile. "Uh, would you please guide these two gentlemen to the office? They're supposed to be meeting with Julien and Maurice."

" _Doris_ ," Kowalski repeated to himself under his breath, his face taking on an expression of sheer puppy-love. Skipper glanced at him with a raised brow.

"Sure thing!" Doris agreed cheerfully, before her gaze was focused on Skipper and Kowalski. "Follow me, boys."

"O-o-okay," Kowalski agreed in an obedient, nervous and very endeared tone.

Skipper rolled his eyes. He knew how Kowalski could get with women. This Doris was a pretty one, so he could sort of understand, but the way that Kowalski wore his heart up his sleeve was rather dangerous. Still, any sort of ammo to tease his brother with was good, especially since Kowalski had taken it upon himself as of late to play match-maker with Skipper's life. The two men followed her, and Skipper nodded to Marlene in thanks, who smiled back sheepishly before picking up the phone again. As they maneuvered through the crowd, Kowalski spoke up, attempting to get some conversation with his new crush.

"So uh, Doris was it?" Kowalski coughed, attempting and failing to be smooth. "My name's-"

His voice was blocked out by someone in the background deciding, in that opportune moment, to blow an air horn.

"...But everyone just calls me by my last name, which is Kowalski." He finished off, sending the waitress a sloppy grin.

Doris giggled. "Oh, that's nice! So you guys are meeting with Julien, huh?"

"Yeah," Kowalski drawled, still retaining his expression of infatuation. "We're uh, private investigators- oof!"

Skipper smacked him in the gut, giving him a warning glare. They couldn't exactly tell the details of their business ventures to random civilians, no matter how smitten they may have been with them. Kowalski grumbled softly to himself, but luckily Doris was too busy pushing through the crowd to truly notice. She guided them to a back room, where they found themselves met with an unmarked door.

Doris turned to them, her smile just as bright as ever. "Okay, Julien is just through there. Have fun!"

She waved to them, before strutting back to the main room, most likely to go about her duties. Kowalski waved dazedly, still grinning like a lovesick dog, and Skipper pushed him into the room with an annoyed growl. The two of them were then in a mostly soundproof hall, and Skipper took it upon himself to scold his brother.

"Kowalski!" He snapped. "You can't just tell people what we're doing when we're on a case!"

His second in command huffed. "I wasn't going to tell her the details!"

"Whatever," Skipper grunted, displeased. "Let's just go see what Julien wants to tell us."

Kowalski's expression of annoyance faded into smugness once more and he followed suit. The two of them came to the door at the very end of the hall and entered, finding Rico, Private, Julien, and another man waiting for them. Skipper felt his knees weaken when he saw Julien, the image of beauty and perfection, once more, and internally he sort of related to Kowalski's helpless adoration from mere moments ago. Still, he shook himself clear of any temptation and cleared his throat.

"It's good to be seeing you again, Skipper," Julien greeted him, voice soothing silk that flitted through the air like a hummingbird's wings.

"...Hello Julien." He nodded to him, throat already parched, before turning to the man who he didn't know. "Who's this?"

"This is Maurice," Julien replied, eyes smoky and never leaving Skipper. "He is the Park Zoo financial advisor and my father."

Skipper blinked, taking a step back, not having expected that. "Oh, uh, nice to meet you, sir."

"Father! I _knew_ they were related." Private exclaimed, turning to Skipper. "They have the same last name."

Maurice looked rather uncomfortable, but Kowalski spoke up before he could, rather suspicious. "...Excuse me, but aren't you a bit… Young to be Julien's father?"

Skipper didn't think the question was particularly appropriate, even if it was what had been on their minds. Maurice was certainly older than them, perhaps around his mid-forties, but that was only seventeen years older than Julien himself. It wasn't impossible, just unlikely - an incredibly rude thing to ask regardless, but then, Kowalski had a tendency to forget his manners.

Maurice sent Julien a very tired glance. "I'm not his biological dad, no. Just a family friend who... _Adopted_ him."

The way he used his words were very calculated, and Skipper frowned. There was clearly something the Hira family didn't want them to know, but Skipper didn't have time to think about that.

Julien giggled softly. "Ah, yes, but that is of no importance of the right now, yes? I have news for you penguins about Parker."

Skipper was still recovering from his surprise, but he settled down in one of the available chairs regardless. He pushed his chair away from Kowalski when his brother took a seat, earning a soft glare, but gestured for Julien to continue anyway. Julien seemed mildly amused but didn't mention it, instead pushing forth the newspaper clipping centered on his desk.

"Parker has gone into the hidings. It is saying right here that he went missing, and I am sure that it is being because he knows he's very responsible for what he did to my Clemmyson. He is trying to be escaping of the arrests." Julien explained, voice taking on a clinical edge.

Kowalski narrowed his eyes as he read over the succinct newspaper column, no doubt calculating something mentally before he spoke up. "...It _is_ certainly strange that he dropped off the face of the planet like this… I don't know if I'd automatically assume he's in hiding, but it's definitely weird. Especially considering how little the police have on him. I don't think it was exactly an accident, all of this..."

"What are you saying?" Skipper frowned. "Someone planned to have Clemson killed?"

"Don't be being silly!" Julien intervened, his voice suddenly very loud and way-too-obviously nervous. "No no no, I am not thinking so. It wasn't a plan, Parker is being the fully responsible."

The room went silent for a moment and all eyes were suddenly on Julien, who was smiling tensely, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Rico and Kowalski exchanged a look of cautious distrust as Private blinked in confusion, and Maurice looked altogether bewildered. Julien's bright amber eyes were then on Skipper, and he sent him an earnest, hopeful grin.

"You are believing me, aren't you, Skipper?" Julien inquired.

Skipper gaped for a moment or so, especially when Julien gazed at him with such sweet unbridled anticipation, his warm dark skin flushing slightly under the dim office lights. Skipper couldn't help but swallow thickly and nod.

"O-of course," he responded, voice once again aching with what may have been thirst.

The expression he got in return from Julien was not the relief he expected, though, but was instead a flash of mild disappointment before it transitioned into understanding disposition. For a moment, an awkward silence drew forth, but luckily Kowalski was tactless enough to end it.

"If I may ask, Julien," he piped up. "Do you know why Parker shot Clemson?"

Immediately, Julien glanced over to Skipper, then to Maurice, before looking back to Kowalski. In a way that was very clearly feigned, he began to sniffle, and daintily wiped a fake tear from his painted eyes. With a plain facade of complete anguish, he leaned back in his chair and swept one of his yellow feathers back into his headdress.

"Parker saw me doing my dance routine, and he wanted to spend the night with me," Julien admit in a tone of suffering. "It's not unusual, but he was going a bit too far… Clemson and he got into a big argument and… Parker did the shooting of him."

Internally, Private, Kowalski, and Rico couldn't help but wonder; just who shot who?


	8. Illegal Evidence

**Chapter Eight: Illegal Evidence**

A door slammed shut, music booming in the distance. Two men were alone. One looked at the other, angry and confused. The other was seated delicately, refusing to make eye contact.

"What was that all about?" The angrier one barked. "What were you trying to do, exactly?"

The other played with his fingers, looking guiltily away. "I… I know it is hard to understand, but there's a plan, and I'm the decoy..."

"A plan? What are you talking about?" Still angry, but now with concern.

Finally, the more sheepish one looked up, worry leaking into his visage. "You have to understand. If I didn't go along with it, they would have killed you, and I… I couldn't lose you… Not after-"

A gasp. "Don't tell me that _he_ put you up to this! If you do what _he_ says, you… You're going to go to prison!"

The other responded with a sad, resigned nod. "I know."

The man who'd been furious just moments before now transitioned into utter fear. "No no no! I'm not about to let that happen!"

He yanked open the door, running out in a hurry. His conversational partner jumped up from his seat, horrified.

"Wait, wait! You can't-"

But it was too late. The door slammed once more, leaving him completely alone. He collapsed back into his seat, before resting his forehead in his hands.

The following day, Kowalski was typing away once again. This time, Skipper had been lenient enough to leave him and Rico at the office while he and Private went out on an 'interrogation mission'. Which generally meant Skipper and Private would go to various places near Parker's house and attempt to get any sort of information they could on where Parker might have disappeared off to. Not a very effective way to go about finding answers, but it was the only thing they could do that wouldn't irritate the law. On top of being hard work, it was time consuming. Which, luckily enough, gave Kowalski an opening to hack into the police database again.

He sighed agonizingly as he did so. Though he'd managed to clear his footsteps, because of the rather abrupt interruption from Skipper, he hadn't done so completely. The police knew that someone got into their information, they just didn't know who. While it was good that they couldn't pin anything on Penguin Eyes, it also meant that they'd upped their security, which made it all the harder for Kowalski to get into the program. Something he was still rather displeased about.

He grumbled to himself unhappily. Skipper had really been on his back lately. The two of them did have a tendency to bicker, but never as much as they had been as of late. He knew it was in part his fault for being so adamant about poking his way into Skipper's love life, but he couldn't help it. He cared about what was in Skipper's best interest, and if love was the problem, then love could solve it, couldn't it? A simple equation. Skipper wasn't going to get over Hans on his own, couldn't grapple at his own form of closure. So he simply had to forget about him by realizing Hans wasn't the only bird in the flock. There were people out there, good people who could make him remember what it was to love. People like Park Zoo's Julien, a seductive and flirtatious heart-throb.

And yet, despite having attempted to match he and Skipper together, Kowalski couldn't help but feel a bit suspicious towards Julien. He couldn't imagine what Julien was hiding, but Julien had made it painfully obvious that he was hiding _something_. The amount of obviously fake acting he had pulled was evidence enough of that. It was prominent the first time they'd met him and even more so the secondary. Kowalski was starting to wonder if it was a good idea at all to have tried to push Skipper in his direction; he didn't necessarily want a _bad_ person in Skipper's life. It was enough that Julien was involved in criminal activity; the idea of him tampering with the very case he hired them for didn't exactly make him dating material.

What a strange man. All Kowalski could hope was that Skipper would enjoy a nice fling with him and then would come to the conclusion that the world was full of new experiences, that it was never too late for him to try again. There was no need to waste away as he'd been doing, drowning himself in alcohol every night as a substitute for Hans' embrace. Love was a fickle thing.

Dreamily, Kowalski's thoughts drifted slightly towards the most magnificent and beautiful Doris whom he'd had the luck of encountering while at the Zoo. It was a wonder that she herself wasn't a dancer, but was instead a waitress. He wished he'd gotten her number or something. Perhaps he could visit Park Zoo again and find some method of contact for her. He wasn't as lucky as Rico was with women, tended to take his time more, and as a result it had been awhile since he'd dated. If Skipper couldn't find love through this whole escapade, at the very least, Kowalski could.

"Eureka!" Kowalski exclaimed triumphantly when he managed to break through the firewall, again.

Grinning at his own genius intellect, Kowalski maneuvered quickly through the files once more. As he suspected, nothing had been added to Clemson's case files. Kowalski resisted a scoff at the police's incompetence or corruption (it was one of the two, maybe even both), but instead focused on his main objective - finding out who Parker's gun really belonged to. It took a bit more hacking, thanks to the newly added precautions, but Kowalski quickly found what he was looking for. He scanned over a few words, quickly, before his brow quirked and he reread them. And then, reread them again. Kowalski backed away from the computer for a moment, before he blinked rapidly and looked over the file for the fourth time. No, this didn't make any sense… But there it was, plain as day.

"Rico!" Kowalski shouted to his brother, who'd been in the other room.

The demolition expert set aside his stamp collection and looked up. "Huh?"

"Y-you've got to see this, you won't believe it!" Kowalski gestured wildly for Rico to come over, to which he did.

"...Wuz goin' on?" Rico gruffly questioned, squinting at the screen in puzzlement.

"The gun Parker used to shoot Clemson," Kowalski elaborated, voice confounded. "It… It belonged to Julien!"

At the same time, Skipper and Private were sitting on a park bench, exhausted. The two of them were enjoying nice, cold snow cones as they sat, taking a break from all the strenuous interrogating. Going from establishment-to-establishment just in hopes of finding answers wasn't exactly ideal or effective, but it was the only way Skipper could legally go about things.

He wouldn't have minded bending the law here and there, but he still wasn't at all fond of the idea of Blowhole catching on to what they were doing, or finding any sort of reason to put them out of business. The man was still bitter about how Skipper constantly back-talked him back in the CIA. In addition, he was well known for his constant arguments with Nigel, berating the man's paranoia about the Red Squirrel. Skipper thought it was despicable. Their hatred was mutual.

"Skipper?" Private pulled him out of his thoughts with a sweet tone.

"What is it?" Skipper couldn't help but grumble back. He didn't want to be cross with Private, but he was still a bit peeved about his argument with Kowalski from the day before.

Private looked down at his cone, hesitating, before his voice broke through the silence again. "I… I have an idea that might be good for finding some answers, but I'm not sure you'll like it."

"Shoot," Skipper responded.

"Well, I don't suppose we could… Search Parker's home, could we?" Private suggested apprehensively.

Skipper glared at him. "Trespassing is a misdemeanor, you know that, right?"

"I know, but… It's vacant right now, and it's not like the police have been doing all too much to check it out." Private's fingers tightened around his snow cone. "I was just thinking… It could be helpful."

Private looked up to him, his sparkling blue eyes practically melting Skipper's heart. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. This kid would honestly be the end of him. Finally, he nodded.

"...All right. We'll go, but only for a quick check up. In and out, got it?" Skipper assured firmly.

Private smiled cheerfully and agreed. The two of them finished off their snow cones before making their way in the direction of Parker's house. It wasn't too far, as they'd stuck to checking out the nearest blocks, but it was still rather isolated. Parker apparently liked his privacy, living in the house at the top of the hill, surrounded by thickets and long stretches of grass so that it would take quite the hike to reach him. By the time they reached his door, both of them were slightly winded, something neither of them would mention to anyone else.

Weirdly enough, Parker's house was not sealed. In fact, his front door was unlocked, something Skipper found to be incredibly suspicious and uncomfortable. He and Private shared a discontented glance as they entered. No one else was around, luckily, but it still didn't take away the edge of paranoia Skipper felt. His gut told him he was going to discover something bad, something awful in here.

It was a ranch house, so they didn't have to worry about a second or third floor. As the two of them snooped about, Skipper took it upon himself to look through Parker's personal belongings while Private booted up his computer. Skipper glanced under the well-made bed; nothing unusual. The man himself honestly had few things out of the ordinary. A dresser that, upon searching Skipper discovered nothing unordinary (no false bottoms, no hidden weapons, not even a journal), a bookshelf packed with novels and informative non-fictions on marine life, a stack of empty beer cans, a lamp and his computer desk were all that inhabited his personal bedroom.

In his kitchen, Skipper discovered more empty alcohol containers, in addition to an otherwise empty fridge. Odd, but Skipper supposed he wasn't one to talk. There was a rotting banana on the table, but aside from that, Parker had no food in the house. In the living room, there was a leather couch, another lamp, and a cracked television, but once again, it was uncomfortably bare. Skipper was beginning to grow restless with how normal Parker's home was, disregarding the beer cans. He was just about to give up on finding anything when he heard a loud gasp from the bedroom.

"Oh- oh dear, Skipper! Skipper, come quick!" Came Private's muffled shout.

Skipper bolted towards his surrogate brother, in the room within seconds. "What? What's going on?"

Private was still at the computer, pointing frantically to the screen. "P-Parker left his email open, and oh my goodness, you'll - you'll never _believe!_ "

Skipper was by his side in moments, scanning the emails critically. It was a back-and-forth conversation between Parker and someone else. The sender was essentially hiring Parker for his services, but as Skipper read deeper into the messages, he found that they were referring to Parker's assassination skills. It was a commission to kill Clemson Gidro. The sender was willing to pay Parker a fat sum of money (in cash, they clarified) to take out Clemson. Of course, Parker agreed.

"Kowalski was right, it was a set up!" Skipper hissed in realization. "Private, trace those emails!"

"Ah… Actually, Skipper," Private murmured out, his astonishment now accompanied by anxiousness. "There's… There's no need to do that."

"Why not?" Skipper demanded.

Private looked away, not wanting to be the one to break the news to Skipper. He tapped his knuckles together beneath Skipper's ruthless gaze, before sighing and giving in. "Well… That's… That's Julien's email."

Skipper thought he might faint.


	9. Homme Fatale

**Chapter Nine: Homme Fatale**

Skipper and Private grimly returned to the office. The drive had been silent and uncomfortable; at first, Private was full of words, wanting his own questions to be answered, but he eventually understood that Skipper was not in a talking mood. Not after discovering that Julien of all people was behind an assassination. The first person he'd liked in eleven years, and of course, they had to be a criminal. It was just his luck. Love was an awful thing.

Though he wouldn't say it in front of Kowalski, he really had began to develop feelings for Julien. Of course it was in part due to Julien's effortlessly sexy appearance, but it also pertained to the simple way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he treated Skipper like he was worth something all over again. A way to ease the pain of what had happened so long ago, someone to help him forget about all his past wrongdoings, someone to make him feel like it was less his fault that Hans was dead. Someone who thought he was good enough, a person he could hold and even kiss and not feel like he might lose them in an instant.

Skipper was still seething over the fact that it must've all been an act. Julien had probably been using him for his own personal gain, to twist him so that it was convenient for his case. And Skipper had fallen for it, hook line and sinker. He wanted to slap himself across the face - he knew that Nigel would've, had his superior been there.

When they pulled into their usual parking space, they found none other than Rico waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. He had been staring dazedly at the sidewalk, with perhaps even less comprehension than usual. Their brother perked up upon seeing them, but it didn't look like he had good news, either. He crushed his cigarette under his boot and quickly helped Private out of the car, even though Private didn't need any help, before wildly gesturing to them that they needed to come up right away.

In lieu of words, he released a series of animated grunts, something that told them they needed Kowalski to explain whatever was going on. Private and Skipper glanced to each other in anticipation as they climbed the stairs. It generally wasn't a good thing when Rico was so flabberghasted or overwhelmed that he couldn't form even the simplest of words (his speech issues already made it hard enough). More bad news? Skipper wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear, not after the staggering finding that Julien had basically used them.

Kowalski was sitting at the dining room table, stirring cream into a cup of coffee when his three remaining brothers entered. He stood immediately, wide eyed, before he seemed to calm himself, and cleared his throat. Skipper and Rico took a seat at the table while Private quietly gave himself the task of preparing coffee for all of them (or, in his case, tea). They nodded to each other in greeting, but it was evident that there were important things to address.

Looking away, Kowalski began to speak. "Uh, Skipper… Well, I found something while you were out, and-"

"Hacking into the police files again?" Skipper admonished him with a grim tone.

Kowalski openly cringed, before he sighed and nodded. "I know I said I wouldn't, but… I just needed to find out something."

Skipper returned the sigh. "...That's all right, Private and I didn't exactly follow the law either, and we found something pretty… Bad. You first, though. What did you find?"

Kowalski sent him a wary expression, before glancing to Rico and then back. "Well… You're not going to like it, but I found out that the gun Parker used to kill Clemson… Was registered under Julien's name."

Private returned with coffee and Skipper took a long sip of his, which he enjoyed entirely black, in contrast to his teammates who liked theirs with lots of sugary additives. Kowalski waited patiently for his response, but when it came, it wasn't at all what he expected.

"...Julien's gun, huh?" Skipper muttered, licking his lips. "Makes sense, since he's the one who hired Parker to kill Clemson."

"What!" Kowalski shouted, in unison with one of Rico's more alarmed squawks.

Mirthlessly, Skipper set down his cup of joe and slid several printed sheets of papers across the table. "We went to Parker's house and checked it out… He was dumb enough to leave his email open, and there's a whole conversation about Julien hiring him to take out Clemson Gidro."

Kowalski's eyes seemed to widen the more he read of the printed emails, Rico poking over his shoulder to do the same. They both looked up in abject horror when they reached the end, and Rico settled back into his seat with a defeated slump. Skipper hadn't embellished any of it, it was all right there, plain as day. Julien had blatantly hired Parker to kill Clemson, with the same email he'd used to hire the Penguin Eyes to investigate Clemson's murder.

"What on earth is going on here?" Kowalski mumbled, astonished as he stared into space for a moment.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Skipper snapped. "You set me up with someone who employs contract killers!"

"Okay, okay!" Kowalski retorted, clearly annoyed. "I get it, but how was I supposed to know that the one person I'd set you up with was also the guilty criminal behind our case? Gods sake, Skipper, I was only trying to help. You haven't wanted to be with anyone since-"

"He's already involved in organized crime. Shouldn't that be enough to tell you he might not make the best lover?" Skipper glared harshly, knowing that Kowalski was about to bring up Hans again.

"Well," Kowalski huffed. " _I'm_ not the one who fell for him."

"I didn't _fall for him_ , Kowalski." Skipper countered. "I-"

"Guys, guys!" Private chimed in, his tone pleading. "Come now, do we have to argue at a time like this? We really must be focusing on the case!"

Skipper sighed, deciding for just then to let it slide. Kowalski nodded in a nonverbal truce. Rico didn't seem to have noticed any of the turmoil, instead focusing on drinking his coffee while rereading the emails between Parker and Julien. Pleased, Private took a sip of his tea before deciding to speak up again.

"There we go. Now, I suppose we can't just go to Julien and tell him we found him out." He commented. "He'd probably try to have us killed, too."

"You're right." Kowalski replied. "I think all he wanted was for us to find out that Parker was an assassin for hire, or at least for us to get something incriminating about him - you know, aside from having shot a man. He didn't want us to know that he was the employer."

"It doesn't really add up, though. Why would Julien hire us to investigate the case, if he's really the one behind it all?" Private wondered aloud, stirring his tea.

"He probably thought that Parker would talk and wanted him to be sent to prison," Kowalski surmised critically. "Didn't want to give him the chance to come clean… Not sure why he would, if Julien paid him like he should've. Maybe that's part of it too; Julien didn't want to pay Parker. Guess that means he probably wouldn't have wanted to pay us either…"

"Well that's just fancy." Private pouted. "No wonder he was offering so much! He wasn't going to pay us a penny!"

"Whutta jag," Rico barked out crossly, before cursing a few more choice words under his breath.

Kowalski nodded, aggravated. "Yes, and there's the chance that after having Parker arrested, he would have found some way to push us out of the picture too, so that he wouldn't have to pay any of us... I'm guessing Parker caught onto what Julien was doing, which is why he disappeared like he did."

Skipper groaned, feeling a migraine coming on. Julien was an awful person all this time! It made sense, but it also didn't, and he suffered in momentary confusion. His gut grumbled at him, telling him that they were wrong in accusing Julien of being behind this (or, by that point, factually stating that he was). He simply didn't want to believe that Julien was capable of something like that, and in addition, his gut (which was never wrong) told him it wasn't so. It was strange, on top of it all, that everything had worked so evenly, had been all there for them to just find. As though someone had left all of this there, intentionally, for them to discover.

Had Parker been truly stupid enough to leave his emails open like that, ready for them to find so that they could incriminate Julien? Why was his door wide open, when it was supposed to be sealed off by police? In addition, why did the police act so strangely about the case from the beginning? Was Julien in cahoots with them as well, or were they really just that pleased about Clemson being off the charts? And why would Julien want to kill Clemson anyway?

Rico poked him, willing him to speak up, and Skipper exhaled in displeasure.

"...All the evidence points to Julien, but somehow I don't feel like… It's really him." Skipper admit, staring into his cup. "Why would Julien want to kill Clemson anyway?"

"Probably because Clemson was abusive. There was this very nice lady we met who told us all about it." Private explained, sadly. "He hit Julien, even! I can't imagine being very happy in that sort of relationship."

"Also, Clemson did leave Julien in his will. Now that Clemson's gone, it means Julien inherits all of Park Zoo. I'm sure there's a lot of money in that business - not just the shows and food, but also the prostitution and drug smuggling." Kowalski added for good measure.

Skipper's gut disagreed, and his lips pulled into an even thinner frown. "I don't know…"

Kowalski and Rico exchanged an almost amused glance. Private giggled under his breath. Annoyed, Skipper shot them all a heavy scowl.

"What?" He growled.

"It's just that…" Private's voice faded into more chortles.

"Private thinks it's funny that you don't want to believe Julien is responsible, since you like him so much." Kowalski completed the sentiment for him, both exasperated and mildly delighted.

"That's not why." Skipper denied. "My gut-"

"Skipper, we've been over the logical fallacies present in believing one's gut." Kowalski grinned.

"Yes, and we've also been over the fact that science isn't always right." Skipper snarled. "Remember Manfredi and Johnson, with the Batrachotoxin incident?"

Kowalski shrunk back. "Well… That doesn't change the fact that you still have feelings for Julien. Are you going to be able to handle the fact that he's, you know, guilty?"

Skipper rested his cup to his forehead, before nodding. "...If it'll make you shut up about my love life, fine. We'll have to report him."

Kowalski absolutely smirked, before he sighed and took a long gulp from his coffee. "...Well, at least the police won't mind knowing that they can probably take out Park Zoo altogether. Julien holds ownership as of right now, so if he's arrested, the whole place goes down. That means less crime in that area…"

"They aren't going to believe _us_ though," Private added unhappily. "Blowhole hates us, remember?"

"Looks like we're going to have to make an anonymous call again." Kowalski groaned unhappily. "You know how less credible that is?"

"I think we have plenty of evidence to convince them." Skipper muttered into his cup.

Just then, there was a loud thud, startling the four brothers. It was the sound of someone breaking into their office/house, and then, the pounding of footsteps up the stairs. Following the noises, their door was busted open, revealing none other than Maurice Hira.


	10. Maurice's Side

**Chapter Ten: Maurice's Side**

Before anyone could so much as blink, Skipper had Maurice apprehended in a chokehold, forcing the man down on the floor next to their damaged door. Maurice was tapping on his arm, face a straining red, but Skipper hardly let up - just enough to let the intruder breathe. The others watched in confusion, unsure of how he'd managed to cross the room so quickly.

"Come to stop us from arresting Julien?" Skipper snarled.

"Yes-" Maurice wheezed. "But only 'cause he's innocent, I swear!"

Skipper rose a brow, before turning to his brothers. "Kowalski, options."

"Uhh," Kowalski blinked, his mouth hanging open for a moment. "We should probably listen to what he has to say."

Skipper nodded and released Maurice. Maurice sent him a withering glance of disapproval, rubbing his now-red throat. Skipper didn't look at all apologetic. Private excused himself to prepare some more coffee, and the rest of them sat back down at the table, stiffly. Skipper was still very much so on guard, entirely distrusting towards anyone involved with Julien. That aside, Maurice had just broken their door, and that would cost a pretty penny to repair.

"How'd you know we just found out about Julien?" Was the first thing Skipper could think of to ask.

"When the four of you met with Julien yesterday, I noticed he was acting real… Strange." Maurice gratefully accepted the coffee when Private handed it to him, before continuing. "I figured there was somethin' up, so I asked him about it, and he told me that there was some sorta plan goin' on…"

"A plan?" Kowalski seemed skeptical. He tapped his fingers over the printed emails, drawing Maurice's attention to them. "Was it the same sort of plan where he hired Parker to kill Clemson?"

Maurice was not at all impressed. "That's just it. Clemson ain't dead."

"Not dead?" Private gasped.

"Nah, he just faked his death." Maurice sniffed as he took a sip, before adding some sugar.

"That would explain the lack of crime scene photos…" Kowalski grumbled. "All right, then. Let's say that you're telling the truth. Why would Clemson fake his death, and how exactly is Julien innocent?"

"Clemson used to live in New Jersey, before he came here. Back then, he was involved in some real bad stuff. Hoboken mafia. He bounced as soon as he could though, changed his name and started up again in New York." Maurice paused, staring down at his coffee. "...That was around the time that we wasn't doin' so well financially, not after… Well, anyway, Clemson sorta took Julien right outta college. Told us he could help pay his loans if Julien became the main dancer at his club, and that's how we got involved in all this."

Skipper found himself slightly chilled at the idea of a younger, more impressionable Julien being sucked into a life he probably didn't want. Sex, murder, drugs, and for what? Education! He cringed to himself; his family had been well off back in the day, but as of then he understood the tribulations monetary issues brought. That, and he had personal issues with Hoboken. One of his past colleagues, an ex-girlfriend named Lola whom he'd trained with alongside Hans, had run off with some muscle-head and gotten herself involved with the crime rings down there. Skipper was not at all a fan. The idea of Clemson dragging Julien into anything like that was horrific.

"Clemson wasn't the best at management, though. He also wasn't too great at keepin' his hands to himself, was always gettin' in other peoples' business. I guess he pissed someone off, enough so for them to out him... Someone tipped off the Hoboken mafia that he was stayin' here in New York, and they told him they were comin' for him. They really don't take kindly to guys that abandon the _family_ , y'know. So of course, Clemson freaked out, and figured the only way to avoid bein' killed, was by bein' killed. He had ties with someone, I'm not really sure who, and they hired Parker to help him fake his death." Maurice told them all this while still staring into his cup, watching as the wisps of steam curled into thin air.

"What does this all have to do with Julien?" Kowalski spoke up after a few seconds of silence.

Maurice stared at Kowalski as if he hadn't been listening at all. "Julien's the decoy. Parker's just a hired man on the job, he ain't really supposed to go to prison. Sooner or later, someone was bound to notice somethin' wrong with him not bein' arrested and say somethin'. Clemson came up with the idea that Parker would be somehow proven completely innocent, and that it'd be Julien who'd get sent to prison in his place."

"That doesn't make any sense." Kowalski frowned. "Even if Julien was responsible, Parker would still be held in prison for being the one to shoot the gun."

"To be honest, as long as someone gets arrested, I don't think anyone was gonna ask any questions. Not in the kind of neighborhood we're in." Maurice replied darkly. "'Sides, Clemson doesn't really want Julien runnin' his club. Pretty sure he was gonna make himself a new identity and 'buy' it… He didn't want Julien thinkin' he had any sorta power."

Maurice looked away, sadness pulling into his visage. It was clear that he too was well aware of Clemson's abusive behavior towards Julien, but of course, had been powerless to stop it. Skipper cringed openly at the thought.

"So… Julien didn't do anything wrong?" Private piped up hopefully.

"Other than bein' a victim of circumstance, not a thing." Maurice assured him.

"That's all very nice and ideal, but do you have any real evidence of this?" Kowalski scoffed. "Because we _do_ have evidence of Julien hiring Parker, but not of… Everything else you said."

Maurice seemed as though he couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh at Kowalski or slap him, but luckily for all of them he settled on neither. "You really think Julien's stupid enough to use the same email address for both you and Parker? He didn't type any of that. It was Clemson impersonating him. I mean… He did specifically want to have you guys doin' the investigation, but that's about all the say he had in the matter."

"Let me run a track on the IP addresses the emails have been sent from, then." Kowalski grumbled. "Do you have any idea where Clemson might be hiding right now?"

Maurice shook his head. "Pretty sure even Julien doesn't know that - but I can tell you it ain't New York."

Kowalski excused himself from the table to do as he said, muttering to himself under his breath as he did so. He didn't like being proven wrong. Skipper tapped his spoon against his coffee cup, staring down into it's endless darkness, still attempting to fathom the news that contradicted the previous news. It was pretty shattering, but in a good sort of way.

"So Julien… Is innocent." Skipper mused, both relieved and alarmed.

Maurice winced. "Well… I've tried to keep him away from all the bad stuff that goes on down there. Made sure he'd never sell his body, never do any hard drugs, nothin' like that. He wouldn't hurt a soul unless he felt like someone he loved was in danger. That's why…" He trailed off, leaving all of them hanging.

Private was the first one to speak up after, voice innocent and genuine. "What's why?"

"That's why he felt the need to do all of this. Believe you me, Julien wanted to stay _far_ away from prison - didn't wanna get involved in any of this - but Clemson told him that if he didn't go through with it, he'd have me killed." Maurice sighed. "He's lost a lot of family over the years - we both have. It probably scared him to pieces, the idea of losin' the only thing he had left."

The room was silent, and once again, Private was the one to break it. This time, his voice was quiet, apprehensive and gentle. "...Is… Is that why you left Madagasar?"

Maurice nodded, receiving a soft pat on the shoulder from the youngest Penguin Eye. He looked to Skipper in particular, as though there was something he was just aching to say, but eventually his eyes fluttered and he seemed to deflate. Skipper's brow furrowed.

"Well," Kowalski poked back into the room, twisting his fingers. "Looks like… You were right, Maurice. The emails came from two completely different places. There's no way Julien could have sent both sets, even if he did send one. That doesn't prove his innocence, but it makes your story a lot more likely."

"Oh come on, Kowalski, we all know he's telling the truth." Skipper waved his hand dismissively. "I _told_ you my gut was right."

"You're just saying that because you want to believe Julien's innocent." Kowalski sat back down, glaring at his commander. "I should have never introduced the two of you, now you can only look at him through rose-tinted-glasses."

"You're interested in Julien?" Maurice blinked, as though this was the most shocking thing he'd ever heard.

Skipper felt his face heat up. It was one thing for his crush to be outed, but even more so to his crush's surrogate father. He shot Kowalski a scowl, before clearing his throat and returning his focus back to his coffee.

"What's not to like?" He muttered. "Aside from thinking he was behind all this thirty minutes ago."

Maurice looked slightly distant as he mulled over this, eyes becoming glassy, before he took a long sip of his coffee. When he spoke up, it was as though he was forcing out the words, still trying to process them as he said them. "Huh. Well… That's… That's nice."

"Anyway!" Skipper quickly decided to change the subject, growing supremely uncomfortable. "Now what? We find Clemson, put him behind bars?"

"I think we should make sure that Julien's safe, above all. Clemson's gonna be waitin' for you to arrest him soon, and if you don't, he's gonna know something went wrong." Maurice chipped in, recovering from his mild trance.

"Right." Skipper nodded. "It's probably best we get the two of you away from Park Zoo altogether, if it's such a rotten place…"

"Don't get me wrong," Maurice paused him. "We both like dancin' and havin' a good time, but we could do without all the other stuff - y'know?"

Skipper nodded in understanding. "Let's pick up Julien and bring him back here, get the full story, and then we can figure out what to do."

Kowalski agreed. "I'll go start the car - Rico is _not_ driving this time."

Rico followed him in an attempt to appeal with a drawn-out whine. The two of them could be heard dissenting as they got further away. Private skipped after them, leaving Skipper and Maurice alone. The older man turned to him, face slightly grim. Skipper immediately sensed awkwardness and fiddled with the button on his suit.

"...Skipper… I'm glad you like Julien n' all, but be careful, all right?" Maurice paused, starting towards the door. "He's… He means well, but there are a lot of things he doesn't understand, especially about love. He's not real good at communicatin' his feelings, even if they run deeper than they seem."

Skipper realized that Maurice was not cautioning him for his own safety, but for Julien's, and he nodded in agreement. If Julien wasn't a danger to him, Skipper could focus on keeping him from harm's way. "I will."

Maurice smiled at that. "Thank you."

As the two of them made their way out around the splintered pieces of wood, Skipper whistled to himself. "...Where did you learn how to bust down a door like that?"

Maurice paused on his way down the stairs, and in the darkness of the hall, he looked more hurt than ever when he looked wistfully in Skipper's direction. "My wife. Before she died."

Skipper decided he didn't want to know anything more than that, and the two of them departed in silence.


	11. Kiss and Tell

**Chapter Eleven: Kiss and Tell**

Julien was sitting in his office, hands folded as he stared into space and reminisced about his family. It had been awhile since he'd had time to himself like that. Maurice had been in and out of the Zoo ever since he admit to him that he'd been a part of the plan, and because of his sporadic dance schedule, he had a bit of alone time. Granted, he was never really alone, but at the very least, no one was physically with him. He shut his eyes.

He was only a ten year old child when his parents and uncle died in the accident. At least, that's what Maurice called it - the two of them both knew very well it hadn't been a real accident. It had to do with the other woman that had been a close family friend during the time, who was also in the car. His uncle had certainly been into shady business, but he was never the target of any organized murder, not like her. Someone had tampered with their breaks and their steering, leaving them helpless when their car plunged off the side of a cliff and into the ocean below. Five passengers. Three deaths. Two survivors.

He'd been adopted, after that, by both Maurice and the woman who'd saved his life that day. Both of them had known his parents for years and it only seemed natural, being that he had no biological family remaining. They married shortly afterwards and moved to the states. Julien sighed as he thought of his college years, how they'd ended and a new chapter of his life began.

 _The chill was beginning to bite at his exposed skin and he shuddered, wondering if he'd be able to get home that night. Probably not, but he could always try to sneak back into the library and pass out there. The only issue with that was that he knew he'd done that way too many times. The librarians would soon catch on to his after-hour visits and might, potentially, ban him altogether. Unfortunately, it didn't look like the buses would be running again any time soon, not with the state of the road. And it wasn't like his father had the car, not after they had to sell it for food money. He wasn't in a favorable position - not that he had been, for years._

 _Two bright headlights approached from further down the snowy road. He opened his eyes, and exhaled. A white puff of air followed._

 _He didn't move, didn't blink, did nothing but breathe as the only car on the road pulled to a stop just beside him. Slowly, the window rolled down, black ink glass dipping behind the door to reveal a man, staring at the younger one as if he couldn't believe he existed. This was a look he often got. Uncomfortable, he hugged his bag slightly closer to his torso. The snow continued to fall, pure and sweet like powdered sugar. It descended from the dark sky between the two of them, catching on the young man's eyelashes as he blinked._

The door opened abruptly, revealing Skipper, Kowalski, Private, Rico, and Maurice. The five of them clamored into the room hurriedly. Julien was not at all alarmed, and instead leaned back into his chair with a mild smirk, raising one of his dark brows as his thick lips pursed.

"Have you come to arrest me, Skipper?" His voice bled into the air like perfume, deep and sensual.

Skipper was immediately affected, his face warming as he was met, once more, with the image of pure perfection. Julien was so casual in his inquiry that it didn't even cross his mind right away that Julien didn't know that he wasn't. He coughed into his hand awkwardly.

"Not exactly." He approached, as if drawn in by some sort of magnetism. "Julien, we know the truth about-"

Julien practically leapt across the desk, yanking Skipper by his tie and pulling him into a deep kiss. Skipper released a muffled sentiment of surprise, gasping against Julien's warm, soft lips. His heart sputtered, unsure of how to take his first kiss in eleven years, and Skipper's entire body tensed. Julien was momentarily just as taken by it as he, or at least, he made it appear so. His eyes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly, dark and captivating, and he pulled back with a soft inhale, mouth not yet ready to leave the warmth.

Silence reigned, but Julien's eyes slid over to the top left corner of the room. Carefully, Skipper's eyes followed, and he discovered that there was a camera in use, pointing directly down at them. Julien looked back to Skipper, his irises deep pools of caramel honey, gold like treasure found in the most archaic hiding places.

"It is not safe to speak of this here," he whispered against Skipper's mouth. "There are eyes and ears, ready to be telling a gun to shoot. Follow me."

With that, he pulled away from the very stunned private investigator, and winked wryly. The entire room was staring at them in utter shock.

"Oh my, Skipper!" Julien exclaimed in a facetiously vapid tone. "You naughty boy you. Let us be taking you to my bed chambers, yes?"

Skipper was sure that his face was bright red at the comment, and he nodded speechlessly. He knew that Julien was only acting by then, but the implications of his words still made his mind wander to places they shouldn't. He pushed any semblance of arousal away; now was not the time. Breathlessly, he followed the master of seduction, the rest of his team and Maurice not far behind.

They weaved their way through the workers that were running this way and that, delivering drinks or haphazardly changing costume. On their way, Skipper noticed Doris again. She had been chatting to Marlene, but paused when she saw them pass, blinking in surprise at them. After a moment she waved, in particular to Kowalski, who looked like he'd really rather talk to her than follow Julien. It took a firm smack from Rico to keep him in their little flock, even though Skipper could tell Rico himself was interested in Marlene. After they left, Doris looked much paler, as if she'd seen something that made her nervous. Skipper didn't think too much on it.

Julien led them to the staircase, and then to the upper levels of the Park Zoo. It was at least three in total. Julien completely ignored the second floor, and Skipper frowned uneasily when he heard the sounds of distinct moans from within some of the rooms. That was probably where most of the illegal activity took place. Julien made it to the third floor, and then to the room at the very end of the hallway. Procuring a key from seemingly nowhere, he soon unlocked it and pulled it open.

Inside, the carpets were a deep, rich red velvet. The walls were a slightly darker shade, coated in a pattern of swirling gold. There was a white dresser and a pearl framed mirror to the side, directly next to a very packed bookshelf, filled with what seemed to be textbooks. They'd collected dust by that point in time. There was a loveseat and a recliner matching the general decor of the room, crimson with flaxen and white lining. In the center of the room was a grandeur, king-sized bed, covered by a fulvous sheer canopy. It's sheets were silky red, sun-colored pillows to accent the theme the room had. It was a bed fit for royalty.

Julien seated himself very precisely on the intricate sheets. He patted the space next to him for Skipper to sit in, which he did, with mild discomfort. Everyone else was accommodated by the other arrangements Julien had in his bedroom. It was unnerving to know that Julien literally lived at the Park Zoo, but no more so than the fact that Skipper was sitting in his bed. Especially after having shared a kiss with him.

He was still trying to process that.

"I apologize for my surprisingness back in the office," Julien was the first to speak up, plucking at his harem pants. "Clemson and the Blowhole guy had a camera put in there, to make sure there was nothing I did that was wrong… I couldn't have been letting you say anything to let them know."

"Blowhole!" Skipper gasped. "Blowhole and Clemson are working together?"

Julien nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes, yes. Parker is being one of Blowhole's agents, which is why the police guys were so not-professional about the whole thing… I am guessing you know him?"

"That fiend," Skipper muttered through grit teeth. "Yeah, I know him. We used to… Work together, sort of."

Julien stared at him in silence after he said this, taking an extra moment to speak up again. "I- ah, yes. Blowhole… He's not the nicest one."

"Understatement of the century." Kowalski pitched in.

Ignoring this, Julien continued. "So… Maurice told you the truths?"

"Everything that I knew, anyway." Maurice confirmed. "About how Clemson used to work for the Hoboken mafia, and how it was him who hired Parker, and that you were s'posed to go to prison in his place."

"Roughly," Julien smiled. "Clemson had big issues with the whole Hoboken mafia. He managed to upset them very largely on his way out. So when he started up in here, he didn't expect them to find him. I am not even really knowing how they did, since he did the whole name changing and stuff… But they did, and so he had to find a way out, 'cause they were going to murder him."

"He wouldn't shut up about it for days." Maurice muttered.

"That Blowhole guy comes here sometimes. A lot of his red officers, he calls them, _enjoy_ our dancers. Since he and Clemson know each other, they did the deal striking - Parker would pretend to do the killing of Clemson, and I would be his scaping-goat. That way, Parker wouldn't have to be going to the prisons, and I wouldn't be able to be telling anyone what happened." Julien told the tale as if he was ordering a coffee, not talking about how his long-term boyfriend tried to send him to prison.

"That's a very roundabout way to do it, don't you think?" Private sounded exhausted from following the convoluted explanation.

Julien's smile turned slightly somber at that. "Roundabout is the only way Clemson knows how to be doing things."

"I don't get it, though." Skipper commented. "What does Blowhole have to gain from any of this? He doesn't just do favors like that."

Julien shrugged, seeming to make a point to lean in Skipper's direction and brush him as he did so. "I am not knowing that one. All I know is that he agreed to it, and Clemson didn't ask any questions."

"So… We _can't_ go to the police about this." Kowalski concluded in agitation.

"We'll think of something." Skipper told him. "For now, let's just get you two out of here. You can stay at our place tonight, and tomorrow we'll figure something out."

"That is sounding very good!" Julien agreed in a relieved tone. "I just have one more dance coming up, I hope you aren't minding waiting for me too too much?"

Skipper's throat dried at the thought of watching Julien dance again, and then even more so at the mental image of him undressing. "Not… Not at all."

"Thank you so much." Julien grinned. "I am going to be getting changed now, then. See you all downstairs!"

Kowalski, Rico, Private, Maurice and Skipper got up to leave. The first four were talking amongst themselves, discussing what to do in terms of the case, but before Skipper could completely follow, Julien caught onto his sleeve. The rest of them descended the stairs, leaving Skipper and Julien alone. Skipper blinked rapidly, finding himself growing nervous once more. There Julien sat, his legs folded neatly beneath him on his magnificent, large, plush bed, staring up at Skipper with unbridled sincerity.

"Skipper… I want to be thanking you. For uncovering the truth." Julien's voice came out soft and heartfelt, eyes taking on a compassionate aura.

"Of-of course. It was mostly Maurice, who helped…" Skipper trailed off, slightly distracted by Julien's smooth, dark skin.

Julien giggled. The sound was like notes, fleeting from the melodious strings of a harp, and Skipper never felt so stupid or small in his life for being so smitten with this dancer. His face felt like a hot fire, blistering and unsoothable with it's heat, as he thought of how Julien had kissed him earlier. Was this what it was like to feel romantically towards someone again? He felt no different than a schoolboy, tripping over his own feet as he tried to talk to his crush.

"When you kissed me…" He found himself saying, nervous as ever. "Was it honestly just to distract me?"

The doe eyed heart-throb blinked up at him, chewing his lip for a moment. Julien himself flushed, a sight that truly took Skipper off guard. "Ah… If you are wanting the truth… No, it wasn't just that. I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time."

Skipper thought he might swoon, float away into nothingness, or simply faint altogether at the confession. He cleared his throat and nodded awkwardly, settling on flight. "O-oh. Alright… Uh! I'll let you get changed, now. See you downstairs, Julien."

Julien pulled at his bed fabrics, looking away bashfully. He glanced up one last time just to watch Skipper stumble from the room. "See you soon, Skipper."


	12. A Favor

**Chapter Twelve: A Favor**

Clemson and Dr. Blowhole sat in a dark room, located deep within Blowhole's underground base. It was late at night. Though the two of them had just eaten dinner, they were still seated at the table in what Blowhole had made to be Clemson's temporary quarters. At least, until all the smoke cleared and he could salvage a new identity. Clemson was reading over the newspaper while the police chief sat tensely, staring down at the camera feed. His non-mechanical eye squinted at what he saw. Eventually, Clemson set down the paper and sighed.

"What's the matter? You've been acting uptight all day - and by that I mean, it seems like something's wrong. With you, that is." Clemson questioned him with an intense frown.

Blowhole didn't look up from the security camera they'd planted in Park Zoo, his brow furrowing as he replayed the feed of Julien kissing Skipper over and over for what seemed like no apparent reason. "...I have a feeling that Julien might've outed us to Skipper."

"Skipper - that's the guy who's leading my investigation, right?" Clemson yawned, straightening the paper again so that he could continue reading. "Don't worry too much about it. Julien's thick, but he's not dumb enough to come clean. He knows if he tells anybody the truth, it's a death wish. Shame, really, since he's going to get killed anyway, but you know! Circle of life, gifthorse, all that." He wove a hand flippantly.

"Yes, that's right. I cleared that with Savio this morning. It's amazing that people are willing to kill for their freedom." Blowhole mused, his eyes darting slightly to the corner as he said this. "Start wars, even…"

"Well, it's not like he was a saint to begin with. I mean, really! That guy and I go way back, you know, Hoboken home and whatnot. Great guy, really fun at parties, knows how to cook a mean steak. I'm not surprised he'd snap Julien's neck to get out of prison, though." Clemson's gaze turned slightly wistful, distant from the newspaper's words. "It's kind of a shame, actually. Not Savio, of course - Julien. Killing him, that is. He was such fun while he lasted. A real _scream_ , if you know what I mean."

Clemson finished the sentiment with a sinister chortle and Blowhole politely nodded, though he was slightly disgusted. Thoughts of anything sexual regarding his cohort were unpleasant. He decided it better not to mention the fact that Julien essentially promised Skipper something similar, and with a crowd present (something even more so horrendous for Blowhole to imagine). He knew Park Zoo's employees were filthy, but he could honestly say he expected a bit better of his past colleague and underling.

Regardless, he smiled. "Death does tend to come when one least expects it."

"So, so true." Clemson didn't think anything of the words, once again focused on reading.

More to himself than to his conversational partner, Blowhole spoke again. "I think I'll ask my sister about it anyway… Can't be too sure. Besides, I may as well. I troubled her enough to ask her to get a job at Park Zoo, so why not make some use of her position?"

"That'd make sense." Clemson hummed, before yawning dramatically. "Well! I'm gonna hit the sack. And by sack I mean this wonderful spread of bed-sheets you guys prepared. Really, you are so hospitable. I don't know how I can possibly repay you."

"You don't have to." Blowhole assured him, his tone slightly ominous as the beginnings of a sinister grin pulled at his lips. "Consider it… A favor."

Back at Park Zoo, Skipper, his team, and Maurice had been seated at one of the tables closest to the stage. A song had just ended, the curtain drawing closed. As it did, Skipper could hear the soft chatter amongst the crowd as they waited for Julien's dance. He overheard someone mentioning that because it was his last dance of the night, it was sure to be the best one yet. Skipper felt a tremble run down his spine.

"Oh, Maurice! I didn't… Expect to see you out here!" A cheerful, genuine voice exclaimed above the crowd.

They turned to see a slightly out-of-breath Marlene, who'd just finished her own dance routine, approaching their table. She smiled politely at them, but her focus was primarily on Maurice, who waved back. Rico purred and slicked back his hair, but the bubbly woman didn't take notice.

Maurice looked down at the silverware, fiddling with his napkin. "Yeah, I don't… I don't usually watch Julien dance."

Skipper hadn't thought of that previously. He was sure it was weird for Maurice to witness Julien, the man that was basically a son to him, seductively dancing in front of a large crowd of folks who all wanted a piece of him. He cringed, feeling rather guilty for being one of them.

Marlene nodded in mild sympathy, having come to a similar conclusion. "Well… If it helps, I gotta smoke you can have." She pulled a well-hidden cigar out of her bra, handing it to the man.

"Whutta dame," Rico whispered to Skipper.

Maurice took it gratefully. "Thanks doll. You get some rest tonight, you hear?" His tone became slightly hushed. "We won't be here tomorrow."

Marlene glanced from Maurice to the private investigators sitting around the table, and seemed to grasp at what he was getting at. With a soft smile, she patted Rico on the shoulder, before trailing off into the crowd. Skipper wondered what her life was like, outside of all this. He hoped it was better than Julien and Maurice's. That she danced because she liked to, not because she had some overwhelming debt to pay, or had gotten pulled into crime with no way out.

Suddenly, the jazzy opening to one of the more popular songs soothed it's way from the speakers. As it did so, the curtains drew open, ever so slowly, revealing Julien laying in the center of the stage. He was clad in a loose, black mesh cloth that wrapped around his body, tight around his neck and hips but hanging low over his torso and back. There was a large feathery tail behind him, just as dark as his other clothing, but with sparkles imbedded within. Once again he was wearing an intricate headdress, dark and black, extending outwards in a wider manner than his others. The only thing covering his groin was a leather speedo, the same material as the bands around his wrists and feet. Skipper blanched, before he felt the color return to his face with a vengeance.

Julien sat up in a very delicate, gradual manner, until he reached his feet. As soon as he did, the music picked up, and lights blasted brightly. Julien turned towards the audience and sashayed his hips, doing a cat-walk forward in sync with the sound of the music. He ran his hands above his head and then over the sides of his chest, down over his abdomen and stopping at his hips, before he thrust them to the side and spun around completely. This move arose loud calls from the audience, while Maurice groaned to himself and called Doris over. Kowalski saw her coming and seemed as though he was going to fall from his chair.

"Can I get some scotch?" Maurice mumbled, rubbing his head.

"Of course!" She smiled at him brightly, as if oblivious to his lament and embarrassment. Doris turned to the other men. "Can I get anything for the rest of you?"

"I'll go for some scotch, too." Skipper coughed into his fist, trying to keep his eyes steadily on Doris and not on Julien's tantalizing hip movements.

Rico grinned slyly. "G't abs'nthe?"

Doris seemed to think this last request was funny, laughing to herself as she nodded. Kowalski didn't take too well to that, frowning and mumbling to himself. He personally thought alcohol was disgusting, alongside Private, so the two of them never drank. Skipper was almost convinced Kowalski would get something just to impress their pretty waitress, but she was already leaving by the time he seemed to work up the nerve. Skipper pat his shoulder firmly, and Kowalski only buried his face in his hands.

"What's absinthe?" Private piped up, innocently.

Rico simpered, giving him a wink, and Skipper just shook his head with a sigh. Kowalski seemed to recover himself at that, sending a raised brow in his compadre's direction.

"To give you an idea, it's been illegal for over seventy years." Kowalski explained, punctuating it with a sigh. "I am _definitely_ driving tonight."

Private released a shocked gasp while Rico cackled, but Skipper had stopped focusing on them by then. Instead, he was openly gaping at the stage, where Julien danced in perfect tandem with the sultry, exciting melody and caressing voice. Julien truly was the star of the show, some sort of fleetingly present angel who appeared only when you least expected it. Skipper knew he was only human, like the rest of them, but there was something about him that was just so unreal. Something that ventured past the borders of what was normal, something that made Julien a diamond among stones.

With Julien's lips gently parted in a toothy smile, his smoky eyes shut, water running down his skin sparingly as residue from the sparklers that went off with every spin. He shook his rear end from side to side, and the crowd went wild as he did what Skipper internally accounted to as the most incredible backflip. Impressive, considering his outfit, but such was expected of dancers. Julien made it look like it'd never been done before.

Julien was so gorgeous, in every lighting, and he danced with such utter purpose that Skipper couldn't help but feel moved by his performance. How tragic, his life before then, and yet he retained this ethereal exterior of serenity that Skipper couldn't fathom. He knew he couldn't let the beautiful flower that was Julien get stomped on by Clemson and Blowhole's steel boots. He had to figure out some way to get him to safety and bring the two of those criminals to justice, but how? How could he do so, when Blowhole was the police chief?

He'd tried to keep a low profile after leaving the CIA. In addition to having been involved in many delicate cases that, were his identity known could very well compromise his well-being, he also simply didn't want to associate with the memories of working like that. He wanted to compromise to his brothers, who missed the work (or in Private's case, thought it would be a 'splendid time'), by opening Penguin Eyes. At the same time, the drive escaped him. It was out of respect for Hans, the only person he'd let into his heart in his entire life.

But Hans' time had passed. He'd been Skipper's best friend, his partner, his first love, but he was dead. He was dead, gone from existence, and Skipper had the chance to try again. He had the opportunity to remove himself from the past, to find new friendship, new partnership, new love, and perhaps he could discover it in Julien. Was it really okay, to let Hans go like that? Was it alright to release his lifeless hand, to step away from the endless pool of sadness that collected with every late night tear he shed? Was it okay to let himself be happy again?

Julien's eyes opened, mystifying the crowd with their beauty. They were not objective, as most dancers were trained to be. Instead, he particularly sought out Skipper, and when their eyes met, Julien's gaze seemed to falter into something less trained and more sincere, something soft and flattered and compassionate all at once. It was gone within an instant, back to his face of seductive professionalism, and he brandished a saucy wink before his dance stirred into action once more.

Skipper grasped the glass of scotch Doris had left while he had been mesmerized by Julien's transcendent allure, shakily taking a sip. It was nice and cold against his heating body. With a shaking hand and a firm resolve, Skipper decided he knew exactly what he had to do. The answer was clear before him, and suddenly, he wasn't holding anyone's hand; there were only his own calloused fists, ready to take action.

He would contact Nigel.


	13. Mutual Manipulation

**Chapter Thirteen: Mutual Manipulation**

 _[Seven years ago]_

The sun had dipped behind the city structures, giving way for the moon to illuminate the enormous snowflakes that gently fluttered to the pavement. Dim, amber streetlights shone down to give the crystalline snow a gentle orange tint. It was late December, just after Christmas, but the weather was relentless in it's downpour. The road had long since been abandoned; the day had dwindled down into the deepest of evenings, which meant the young man who stood beneath the streetlight was completely alone. He leaned on the pole, shut his eyes, and inhaled the crisp air.

He had just finished taking some pictures, all of which had been stuffed into his bag and held close to the warmth of his heart. It was almost as if he could feel the other heart, from within the photographs, beating back against him. There was a sense of yearning he felt, something he left unexposed to the world and buried deep inside. It could only be translated through the lens of his camera. No one else would ever have to know.

It was late, and cold. He had been out all day, digging through pages and pages of books and articles to try and find the smallest tidbits of information. Everything he discovered, he held close to his soul and cherished. An image on the computer screen that he could discreetly photograph and then tuck away to keep forever, an event detailed in aged newspaper clippings that he knew was vaguely related to the one thing that mattered to him. He kept himself low and inconspicuous, and as a result, no one ever bothered the beautiful young gentleman who was shrouded in secretive study. It helped that, although he'd just finished college, he still could use it as an excuse for his daily visits to the library.

College otherwise had been inconsequential and expensive. Now that he had his bachelor's degree in fashion merchandising, he wasn't sure what to do with it; getting a job in New York while battling depression and poverty proved to be more difficult than he could have ever known. There was also the other degree he had earned, but of course, he'd never expected to get a job in that field. It was more out of interest and education than anything else.

On top of the stress he and his father faced, the two of them were drowning in bills. A lot of them were, admittedly, his fault. LIM College hadn't been too expensive in contrast to some of the other schools he could have gone to, but it was still costly when they were scraping together what funds they could just to have dinner most nights.

He was twenty one and in so much debt that he felt like he was suffocating. Education was important to him, and yet, it brought him so much agony. He was far more cultured and refined than he had been going in, but at the cost of his and his father's economic status and their downfall into complete and utter poverty. They'd never been rich, but at least, before he graduated high school they were well off enough that they could afford daily meals. Things never had gone so well since his surrogate mother passed.

She had really been the source of their money, with her elusive and secretive job. She rarely spoke of it, and when she did, always in hushed tones. His father had worked as a secretary for a well established firm up until her death, but following their loss, he sunk into an inescapable depression and was released for emotional instability. It had been five years and he was still despairing, drinking quietly every night in an attempt to escape the pain. As his son, the young man had hoped that in his education, he would have found a way to solve their financial crisis. He had been wrong. He only made it worse.

The chill was beginning to bite at his exposed skin and he shuddered, wondering if he'd be able to get home that night. Probably not, but he could always try to sneak back into the library and pass out there. The only issue with that was that he knew he'd done that way too many times. The librarians would soon catch on to his after-hour visits and might, potentially, ban him altogether. Unfortunately, it didn't look like the buses would be running again any time soon, not with the state of the road. And it wasn't like his father had the car, not after they had to sell it for food money. He wasn't in a favorable position - not that he had been, for years.

Two bright headlights approached from further down the snowy road. He opened his eyes, and exhaled. A white puff of air followed.

He didn't move, didn't blink, did nothing but breathe as the only car on the road pulled to a stop just beside him. Slowly, the window rolled down, black ink glass dipping behind the door to reveal a man, staring at the younger one as if he couldn't believe he existed. This was a look he often got. Uncomfortable, he hugged his bag slightly closer to his torso. The snow continued to fall, pure and sweet like powdered sugar. It descended from the dark sky between the two of them, catching on the young man's eyelashes as he blinked.

The man took a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette before he put it out on the dashboard, allowing the hot ash to crumble against the surface. Smoke curled into the air before disappearing completely. Finally, he spoke. "...Are you out here alone? By yourself?"

He exhaled again, releasing another cloud of white into the air. "Yes."

Snow continued to fall as the driver fidgeted, shifting a bit closer. "Is someone comin' to pick you up, or are you driving?"

His eyes fell, and he blinked sadly at the collecting snow on his shoes, before shaking his head. Neither option applied to him, and he was too tired and cold to lie. Perhaps he should have, as honesty put him in a vulnerable position, but he honestly didn't care enough to try.

The man looked around, glancing this way and that. "...I'll give you a ride home, if you want. No one else is gonna come out here, not in this weather."

He didn't respond, his eyebrows knitting in a way that clearly indicated he wasn't about to agree to that. He was wary of older men who wanted him to come in their cars late at night. As he should have been; it was a logical caution. Automatically, his fears were sensed.

"C'mon," the man laughed, exposing sharp white teeth. "Gacy was just arrested, and besides, he was all the way down in Chicago… I won't put you through anything you won't like, I promise. I just wanna take you home. _Your_ home, that is."

"I don't know," he responded unsurely, tugging at his fingers.

"It's half past twelve, snowing like hell, and you're a pretty boy on the side of the road. Eye candy, really, and all by yourself, too... If I don't pick you up, someone dangerous might." The man prodded, speaking in a tone that sounded credible. To someone as perceptive as the young man, it was easily transparent.

"How do I know you're not a dangerous someone?" He countered, raising a dark brow, wet with melted snow.

He scratched his chin in thought, but his contemplation proved superficial when he responded in mere moments. "I wouldn't hurt a fly. Trust me, I've tried, but I just feel so bad for the little fellas, you know? I'm just gonna take you home, nice and safe, so that no one hurts you. Promise."

If he was attempting to be humorous, he'd failed, as the much younger man only glanced around unhappily in response. He didn't like the odds of his situation, knew it was a bad idea to get into a strange car with a strange man. But he also knew he had no other way of getting home, and that warm car looked like it sure beat the snow. The buses probably were done for the night, and it wasn't like Maurice had a car to get him with… He might not get this sort of chance again.

He'd learned a few things from his mother before her abrupt passing. Self defense that he could use in dire, seemingly helpless situations - and honestly, he'd used it a handful of times in the past. If worse came to worse, he could always use what he'd learned to protect himself from this suspicious man. He felt more comfortable with that in mind, and relented.

With a resigned sigh, he nodded. "...Okay."

"Great!" The man grinned. "I'm Clemson, by the way. Clemson Gidro. What's your name?"

Opening up the passenger side, he slid in, allowing the pleasant heat to embrace his body. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine, as if exorcising the cold altogether. "...Julien."

" _Julien_ ," Clemson echoed, and a sinister smile crawled across his lips, like a pirate who'd discovered a trove of treasure. "Gorgeous name. Where's that accent from?"

"Madagascar," Julien slowly blinked at him.

"Aha!" Clemson snapped his fingers as he began to drive again. "I knew I recognized it… I'm Malagasian, too, you know. Grandparents moved here ages ago."

"Really?" Julien questioned, rather surprised. It wasn't often that he met someone who had roots in his homeland.

"You bet!" Clemson sneered, and Julien felt less convinced than he had seconds ago. "When did you move here?"

"Ten years ago." Julien murmured in mild embarrassment. He knew that his accent was rather thick, vocabulary rather broken for having been in the states so long.

Clemson whistled. "Impressive. You know, your english is pretty good. I'd love to visit Madagascar sometime… I've heard it's beautiful."

Julien sent him a half-lidded gaze as he wistfully recalled his homeland. "It is."

Clemson stared back, grinning in a way that told Julien he'd been unintentionally seduced. "So are the people who come from there… Especially the one sitting next to me right now."

Julien felt himself flush slightly as he looked down at his hands, playing with his fingers. Many people had flirted with him over the years, women and men alike, but it was rarely so blatant. Clemson clearly wasn't interested in giving him anything but the most accurate impression. He cleared his throat quietly and focused on the scent of stale cigarettes and expensive cologne. It only made him feel more uncomfortable, so he glanced out the window to get a view of the snow dancing in the wind outside.

Clemson chortled in amusement at Julien's submissive awkwardness. Gently, he leaned over and brushed his knuckles over the side of Julien's jaw, causing the younger man to gently start at his forwardness. Clemson smirked sharply at his reaction and leaned back, practically cruising over the wet roads. It would have been romantic, maybe, alluring even if not for the fact that Julien would never love Clemson - not in a million years.

"You know, Julien… I think we'll get along well." Clemson hummed, fingers drumming over the steering wheel.

Julien glanced down to the golden rolex around his wrist, to the fancy leather seats and the pricey stereo system in place. They were in a cadillac seville. Clemson was wearing versace, had the scent of mon triomphe dusting his collar. Julien thought of how he was just finishing college, twenty one and in more debt than he could fathom. Clemson was a man of luxury, someone who evidently saw something he wanted and attained it. Holding his bag close to his side, Julien flashed a feigned smile in return as a plan formed within his mind. A relationship was, after all, only give and take.

"Yes... I think we will, too."

The two of them drove off together and conversed, both choosing their words in ways that would benefit their ulterior motives and smiling to alleviate any sense of discomfort. Their car disappeared into the night, a warm bubble of deceit within the unrelenting snow storm.


	14. Nigel

**Chapter Fourteen: Nigel**

By the time that they'd returned to the Penguin Eyes office, it was late in the evening. Late enough that just about everyone was ready to collapse. Save for Rico, of course, who was still wired on wormwood, but eventually even his raging wild antics faded into normalcy (what was normal for him, anyway). Still, none of them could quite sleep after Skipper disappeared off to Private's bedroom. Normally, this might be strange, but the four brothers were well aware that the only phone was located in the youngest's bedroom. This was merely a safety precaution - if for some reason they needed to contact someone in an emergency, Private was the one they wanted safest.

The five of them stood around in the main room at first, tensely. None of them were completely sure who Skipper was calling, but they knew it pertained to the case. Rico was flipping through his stamp collection while Private admired it over his shoulder. Kowalski and Maurice were in the kitchen, talking quietly as water boiled for some tea. Mostly, Kowalski was beating around the bush for Doris' number, and Maurice was not picking up on his hints.

Julien, on the other hand - who had redressed into much more comfortable, decent clothing - was admiring the possessions in Skipper's office. His door had been open and Julien kept himself in view, not wanting to impose on anything. He knew that, while the Penguin Eyes knew of his situation, they probably didn't entirely trust him yet. A soft smile graced his visage as he looked over the unfolding bed, the bookshelf, the plastic fish on the wall, the tidy desk. He traced his fingers over all of it, wanting to feel yet not interrupt. Like a ghost passing through.

At the same time, Skipper was in Private's bedroom, sitting on his plush mattress and staring at the red phone. After steadying himself with a breath, he decided that he needed to do this. He punched a very specific string of numbers into the dial, and didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"State your name and code." The eloquent British accent, slightly aged from the last time Skipper had heard it, rang out on the other end.

Skipper sighed softly. Part of him was relieved in receiving an answer, as it'd been years since he'd last spoken to this man. The rest of him was still incredibly nervous about delving back into aspects of his past. Granted, his past superior was also Private's uncle, but it was unmemorable. Other than the accent, there would have been no way for one to tell that Private and this man were related. Two completely opposite ends of the spectrum. He didn't keep his previous boss waiting much longer.

"...Nigel. It's Skipper." His voice was dry, somber.

There was a pause. Though Skipper knew lapses of silence couldn't inherently have moods, he could tell that this was an _angry_ pause. "...This is an emergency line for active agents only."

Skipper couldn't help but grin, leaning on Private's nightstand. "You know I wouldn't call you just to talk about doilies, Nigel. I need a favor. A big one."

Nigel sighed with purpose. There was a bit of tinkering, which indicated to Skipper that Nigel was making sure no one was listening in. It wasn't exactly protocol to speak to estranged agents. "I should have changed my number… Though it's good to hear from you again, old chap. Didn't suppose I would anytime soon. I say, how's my dear little nephew been holding up?"

"Not bad. Still the same as when you last talked to him. Plays with his horse toys when he thinks we're not looking..." Skipper smiled, his voice cracking slightly. Speaking with Nigel brought up memories, memories he didn't necessarily want to relive.

" _...Goodnight, Skippar."_

"Hmhm, that sounds just like him." Nigel cleared his throat, sounding as if he too was experiencing nostalgia as well. "...Thank you for reaching me. I needed something to keep me, I suppose, grounded. Things have been so hectic lately, especially with everything going on with the Palestine Liberation Front and the Palestine Liberation Organization."

"When are things not hectic, in your line of work?" Skipper felt his eyes watering, despite the thin smile he had plastered to his face.

" _Sweet dreams, Hans."_

"What was that favor you were needing?" Nigel apparently was no longer interested in reminiscing, or small talk.

"I took a case to investigate the death of this club owner. Clemson Gidro. After looking into it, I found some serious double-dealing. Turns out the guy faked his death. He had another guy hired to 'shoot' him, and then was going to force his boyfriend to go to jail for it. And get this - Blowhole's been helping him out with it." Skipper explained the situation humorlessly.

"Blowhole!" Nigel snapped, livid. "That man has been a thorn in my side for too long… First Rockgut, then there was his whole _escapade_ in Shanghei, then interfering with Red, and of course Copen- _other_ missions... Now this! I have half a mind to think he does this purposefully because he wants to chase me to the ends of the earth, then push me off."

Skipper blinked, having not expected Nigel to get that furious over it. He was positive he wasn't even entirely sure what Nigel was talking about, but then, he'd never been fully comprehensive of his and Blowhole's relationship. The idea that it involved legendary MIA hero Buck Rockgut, Nigel's previous partner, was a bit intimidating. Skipper tried not to think too much about it, knowing that if he did, he'd only get just as angry as Nigel was right then.

Slowly, he licked his lips and came up with a response. "Uh… Yeah. Well, since he's currently acting as police chief, I can't out him to himself. Can you lend me a hand?"

"Oh, I won't just give you a hand." Nigel assured him, determined. "I'm sending in the ice cold wind on this one. Don't worry, Skipper. Your problems are solved."

Skipper smiled, releasing a silent sigh of relief. "Do you need my coordinates?"

A scoff. "No no, it'd be easier to just track your address through this line. I can assure you that a team of specialized agents will be there to help you by tomorrow morning, say, nine hundred hours."

"I knew keeping your number was a good thing." Skipper tugged on the cord.

Nigel laughed, distractedly, still very much so focused on punishing Blowhole. "Let's try not to make calling a habit, all right? As much as I enjoy catching up, work is work."

"Thank you Nigel. I'll see you around." Skipper replied quietly.

"My pleasure, mate. Stay low, keep your powder dry." He replied. "Nigel out."

And with that, the call was over. Skipper sunk down on the bed and ran his hands over his face, feeling tired beneath his own skin. This week had been a whole level of change, ripping him open fresh for the world. He took an extra moment to collect himself. In part, he was doing this for his own sake of justice. He knew that what Clemson had done was wrong, and that he would only continue to do more wrong things if he was allowed back onto the streets. The same applied for Blowhole. At the same time, it was also the fact that he saw who Julien was.

Perhaps he didn't truly know Julien, not yet, but he felt as though every time Julien looked at him, Julien was looking straight through the barbed wire and metal fences Skipper had set up. Julien was looking directly inside of him, every glance a hand to take hold of his soul and grasp his innermost feelings. There was something particular about Julien, something strange that ascended beyond his aesthetic appeal. Something Skipper couldn't quite place.

Julien's smile faltered altogether when he came across Skipper's desk, seeing what lay atop. Empty bottles of alcohol, bills stacked on top of each other, and a framed photo. Julien's hand trembled when he picked it up, carefully, as if it would turn to ash beneath his fingers. His lips parted slightly, eyes almost blinking but not quite.

"Oh, that's Skipper's picture of Hans." Private's voice cut into the silence of the office.

Julien was so alarmed that he jumped, looking up wide eyed at the investigator as if he'd been caught doing something terrible. His fingers tightened around the frame just before immediately loosening, and he stared intensely at Private, now stiff and unmoving. A deer in the headlights.

Private smiled sheepishly beneath his gaze. "Oh, terribly sorry. I didn't mean to give you a fright."

"It's all right." Julien's voice was quiet, almost silent, as he looked back down to the aged photograph.

Private walked forth, moving behind Julien so that he too could look at the picture. "Yeah, Skipper still keeps that… I'm not sure why, but I do know that the two of them were good friends."

"Friends?" Julien questioned, still retaining his discreet yet startled tone.

"Oh yes!" Private smiled distantly at the thought. "They were partners together, back when Skipper used to work for -... At his old job, I mean. I only got to meet Hans once or twice, but from what I could tell, he was very nice."

Julien blinked at that, and if Private looked close enough, he almost saw tears forming in Julien's eyes. He convinced himself that it was his imagination, or that perhaps Julien was a particularly sensitive individual. His eyes did not leave the photo.

"It's a shame, he disappeared over ten years ago…" Private sighed, though without true sadness, as if he was talking about a fictional character or some sort of remote historical figure. "Skipper's never been the same after that."

"People don't just disappear." Julien pushed out the words, his wrist shaking subtly.

Private shrugged. "Sometimes they do."

Julien continued to stare at Hans' smiling face unrelentingly. Maurice, Rico and Kowalski had wandered in by that point, holding cups of decaf tea. Kowalski rose a brow as he saw Julien staring at the photo while Maurice looked for a clear place on the desk to set the cups. Rico was still cradling his stamp collection, and he elbowed Private, who sent him a look of confusion.

"Oh, Skipper's picture of Hans." Kowalski muttered. "I still want to throw away that old thing."

Maurice looked up in surprise and Private outright gasped, holding a hand to his lips. "Kowalski, don't speak like that!"

"You know it's unhealthy for him to stare at it every…" Kowalski was about to go off on his tangent before he realized he was still in the room with Julien, whom he'd been trying to set Skipper up with. He paused, before coughing. "Would- would anyone like some tea?"

Maurice ventured over and plucked the frame from Julien's hands, who looked at his surrogate father as if he hadn't noticed he'd even entered the room. Maurice set it back down on the desk and straightened it, and Julien's face faded into composed blankness. Private gratefully took a teacup from Kowalski's hands, but otherwise, the room had fallen into silence.

Suddenly, Private's bedroom door opened. Out walked Skipper, who seemed slightly taken back by the fact that everyone had chosen to gather in his office. He didn't mention it, however, instead only entering with a triumphant grin.

"Well boys, I talked to Nigel." He informed them.

"Nigel!" Private exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, I hope he's been well!"

"He has." Skipper ruffled Private's hair. With a smug smile, he added, "...He's also going to send in someone that can help us. Someone further in the chain of command than Blowhole could ever hope for."

"So, Clemson will be stopped?" Julien maneuvered around Maurice and Private, eyes trained enthusiastically on Skipper.

"You can count on it." Skipper assured him, his smile lighting up when Julien approached.

"Oh, yes! This is being perfect! Thank you so much, Skipper!" Julien cried, clapping his hands.

Before Skipper could get out a word, Julien pulled him into a tight embrace. With his arms curled around the shorter, stockier man and their torsos pressed together, a giggle rumbled through his throat. Skipper opened his mouth but found that his ability to speak had expired. Blinking rapidly, he managed to glance over to Kowalski, who was smirking proudly. Skipper slowly wrapped his arms around Julien in return and inhaled, ever so slightly, taking in the aromatic fragrance from Julien's hair. As he did this, he also managed to indiscreetly flip Kowalski off.


	15. Interrogation

**Chapter Fifteen: Interrogation**

 _[Eleven years ago]_

The sky was cloudy, a telltale sign of an agitated storm brewing. The pale white sun leaked beyond the dark, covered with every stroke of wind that pushed a cloud in front of it. Jaundice grass poked up, spiky and untrimmed, from the corners of every ashen cracking grave. It was mid-day, but almost empty in living population. Just an endless field of gravestones, shaded by the overhanging clouds.

In the midst of it stood a seventeen year old. Not quite a boy, not quite a man, but refined to a pearl of perfection that was smoothed out over years of private schooling and careful, concise decisions. Never his own, since he was well known for his tomfoolery, but from his parents. Two individuals not biologically related to him that he trusted and adored with every fiber of his being. Now, only one remained.

Life had been a series of bumps, never running smoothly. A clock that ticked irregularly, unsure if it ever really wanted to work. His life moved in intervals of fear, pain, or contentment. Sometimes it was a mixture. Ever since his birth parents had died, things had changed drastically, leaving him a leaf caught in the endless winds and waves of the world. Never in his life had he felt more alone.

He stared down at the grave before him, eyes swollen and tender from sleepless days and nights of crying. It had been a long week. The disappearance of one of the few people he held close in his life and then the confirmation that he never wanted. A letter that left he and his only remaining family devastated. Death had a habit of doing that, worming into his life just on the brink of happiness. He and his last living family member cried together.

Alone, he collapsed to his knees, and a crack formed into his perfected pearl of beauty and prestige. With a whimper, he openly began to sob, allowing the bitter and painful tears to run freely. He'd cried in his bed, in the living room, in the car, at the funeral, but only then did it all truly set in. It wasn't some sort of uncanny dream. It was reality, a harsh sweep of ice into his once almost fortuitous life. 

It wasn't an accident. It never was. It hadn't been with his real parents, and it hadn't been with his adoptive. Another grueling fact of life that tried to hold him down in a tight, airless atmosphere, suffocating him and pushing him into eons of suffering. He wanted to uncover the truth, unravel the fabric that bound him to a life of misfortune. He needed to, if he wanted to survive, needed to know so that he could combat the predator that so ruthlessly eradicated his safety.

"I won't rest," he hissed out, his forehead resting against the stone. "I won't rest until I find out who did it."

At a location much further away, in a dark room that was miles underground, two men were at odds. One was begrudgingly handcuffed to a chair, the other a well trained supervisor in interrogation. Though there was honestly someone else who took that job more often, as his personal duties were far more substantial, this was a questioning he wanted to personally experience. Extensive research and education through the KUBARK Counterintelligence Interrogation was a decent foundation, but the concept of not using force escaped him. Illegal? He didn't give a damn.

With his outstretched arms balanced on the table between them, he stared down at his captive, glaring harshly. The handcuffed man was flippant, turning his head to the side in an expression of disrespect.

"I didn't do it. You won't be getting a confession from me. I didn't do anyzing. You are ze one who should be arrested, for vat you did to all those innocent peoples." He turned to his captor with an intense scowl. "Is zat vat your division does? You kill innocent people on ze off chance zat maybe one person vas responsible for something?"

"Isn't that what yours does?"

A glare.

"In murdering my double agent, you compromised very sensitive information about the Red Squirrel." He ground out with indignance. "Those civilians? Nothing in comparison to the billions that could die because of Red. You're the cause of their death, not me."

Unimpressed, the subject snorted and scooted backwards in his chair to lean back. "Ja right. Guilt, mental games, and zen… Vat, are you going to take away my sight? Sensory deprivations, right? I read ze handbook too."

"More like torture." A yawn. "Sensory deprivation works, of course, but there's also excruciating pain. Just enough to leave you on the edge of death, wishing it would come."

"Eh," the German cracked his neck. "Whether I confess or not, you are going to torture me. You have already done ze deciding zat I'm guilty. If I don't confess, you vill continue doing torture until I am dead, and if I do, ze same zing will happen. Zer isn't a point, is there? No one knows I'm even here, I bet."

The older man took a step back and laughed, crossing his arms. "No no, don't be ridiculous. I won't do any of that to you."

His captive paused at this and looked up at him in curiosity.

A sinister grin. "I'll do it to Skipper."

His expression grew nervous and wary, and his fingers began to play with each other. "Ah, no… You - you _couldn't_."

"What's stopping me, hm?"

"Nigel. He has too tight a lock on him. Skippar reminds him of himself, remember? He wouldn't let you touch him." He attempted to divert his idea and assure himself at the same time.

"Ah, Nigel." He smiled fondly. "I hate that man so much. You're right, he does have Skipper on tight patrol. But that doesn't mean I couldn't steal him away like I did you."

"You wouldn't." More of that anxiousness. He was beginning to sweat. "You _couldn't_ , Nigel would never let you."

"In case you haven't noticed, Nigel's not the best at keeping his agents under his wing." He chuckled darkly. "You're here, aren't you?"

"...Vell, ja, but…"

"But _nothing_. It'd be nice to see Skipper get taken down a notch, get what's coming to him."

There was fear in his eyes now. "You don't even have ze clearing to do anyzing like zat… You- you'd get released."

"I could burn him. Remember Manfredi and Johnson? He stayed up all night after their mission in Shanghei, trying to make sure they would make it alive through those third degree burns. Got freaked out when we had to remove Manfredi's eye."

A pause of petrified recollection. "I… I know, I vas there. You wouldn't do zat to Skippar, he-"

"I've thought of waterboarding him, since he loves swimming so much, being out in the water. Maybe make sure he can never look at the ocean again without having a panic attack."

"You c-"

"You know how scared he is of needles. I could push some beneath his nails, maybe toss him into a tub full of them if that's not good enough. Listen to him scream for awhile."

"No! Sto-"

"I could break his arms and legs, or I could just amputate them altogether. Make sure he's permanently disabled for life, that he'll never be able to do something without someone helping him. He won't be able to go on a mission, hold a gun on his own, hell- he won't even be able to go to the bathroom without someone. He'll never be the same."

" _Stop-_ "

"Have you ever heard Skipper scream? Ever seen him cry, bleed out, really truly fear for his life? Because you can, I can make that happen for you. I can peel every inch of his skin off and you can listen to him call for you, and just wonder where you are, why you never came for him, why you didn't care enough to save him from death…"

"OKAY, STOP!" He screamed. "JUST STOP!"

Silence reigned for a moment or so. The captive sniffled, squeezing his eyes shut as tears dripped down his cheeks. His interrogator looked at him expectantly, tilting his head as he paused in his gruesome descriptions.

"I- I did it." He whispered, defeated. "I, Hans, killed Clover. I confess, just… Keep Skipper out of zis."

"Good boy. I'm satisfied, for now." His captor chuckled to himself, before shaking his head and relaxing entirely. "The things people do for love..."

He clicked the button on both of the tape recorders he'd had, before turning to leave. His prisoner looked up, eyes red from having wept on behalf of Skipper. He wasn't sure what was going to come next, and he was even less sure he wanted to find out. All he knew was that there was a world of torture awaiting his future. After his confession, there was no way he'd be freed very soon. He'd rather get it over with, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen right away.

The interrogator turned around just as he reached the door. "You know why Nigel gave you that mission, and not Skipper? Because you're expendable. Nigel knew it was a death mission, he knew I'd do something, but he just didn't care about losing you. You're easy to crack, weak, ready to give in the moment something you care about is threatened. Just like Buck Rockgut was."

The man who'd been torn apart moments ago had nothing to say to that, instead staring at the other in abject hatred and melancholy. He didn't know the history behind Buck Rockgut or what the man had done, how he'd disappeared or what he'd been like. Neither him or Skipper had ever had the opportunity to meet him.

He smirked, not having wanted a response. "Don't worry too much. You'll never have to see Nigel again. In fact, you'll never see the outside world."

With that the door shut, leaving him alone in the dark. The captive stared, wide eyed, into the pitch black of the room and hoped for a quick death. He knew his prayers would not be answered. On the other side of the wall stood the high ranking CIA commander, smiling as if he'd won the lottery. He handed the tape recorder to one of the guards, patting the Red Officer on his back.

"Send one of these to the director. The other one you can put in my office." He commanded. "I have a meeting right now, see to it that those are delivered by the time I get back."

The guard nodded, saluting and turning on his heel to do as told. The two of them went their separate ways, and there was a spring in the supervisor's step. As soon as the guard reached the end of the hall and turned the corner, however, he bumped into another man that he didn't recognize. He immediately frowned, taking a step back and looking him over. The newcomer shrunk nervously under his stare.

"...Do you have the clearance to be down here?" The guard questioned.

"Uh, I…" He clearly did not, fiddling with his fingers and glancing to the side.

The guard took a step back and narrowed his eyes, reaching for his radio. Before he could take hold of it, however, the unknown man panicked and leapt forth. He smacked the guard in the forehead with an open fist. Almost instantaneously, the guard crumbled to the floor, incapacitated and unconscious; the tape recorders fell from his hands and slid slightly over the tiles, snapping open. Breathing heavily, the intruder pushed his body to a more discreet area before looting one of the tape recordings for himself. Glancing around, he quickly made his escape.

He knew there was valuable information on the tape, and that he'd damaged the bulk of it when it had clattered to the floor. He only hoped that the knowledge he needed was still on it, a lingering hope that the truth could be uncovered.

" _I, Hans, killed Clover. I confess, just… Keep Skipper out of zis."_


	16. The North Wind

**Chapter Sixteen: The North Wind**

Morning had come. Julien and Maurice had stayed in Rico's room, who had instead slept with Kowalski (the scientist hadn't been particularly happy with the arrangement, but begrudgingly accepted when it occurred to him that he could monitor Rico's sleep patterns again). Their bags had been stored in the living room; surprisingly, Maurice brought more than Julien. Whereas Maurice brought a large duffel, Julien carried only a small bag. Skipper couldn't imagine what he'd even fit in there, but he also knew that perhaps Julien was just packing light. It was only bizarre because Julien struck him as the frivolous type.

It was around nine AM when Nigel's chosen operants showed up, just as the man had said. They pulled up in a subtle van which was clearly more intricate on the inside, something with more technology than the public would have been able to comprehend. They were clearly high level, an elite force. Skipper once prided himself in being the best of the best, but he grimly recognized that times had changed. When the van pulled up to their humble abode and four CIA agents stepped out, he quickly let them in, nodding to them in brief greeting. They and the rest of the inhabitants of the Penguin Eyes building gathered in the main room.

There were four of them altogether. The tallest was a man that overlooked everyone in a pretentious manner, with dark gray hair and sharp blue eyes. There was another man with a similar height, who was incredibly muscular, with perhaps a bit of fat thrown into the mix; his white hair was dyed to match his white outfit. With similar (also most-definitely dyed) hair was a woman, perhaps around Julien's age, who was a bit shorter and seemed incredibly bored. The shortest by far was a young man, no older than Private, with wild white hair and a black backpack that most definitely held varying weapons within. Skipper could tell by the way they clanked, and so could Rico, who grinned excitedly and twisted his fingers.

"Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice." Skipper calmly greeted them.

The tallest, who must have been their leader, nodded to him in a supercilious manner before speaking in an authentic british accent. "We are the North Wind, an elite special operations task force dedicated to helping those who can't help themselves. _This_ will be a breeze."

Skipper wasn't entirely sure he agreed with that, sharing an off-put glance with Kowalski, but he let the man continue speaking without interruption. He already wasn't too terribly fond of the North Wind's designated speaker.

"I am the leader of this group. My name is classified." He nodded to the larger man. "This is Corporal. He's the muscle of our team. Highly capable of taking out any enemy in hand-to-hand combat and trained in various unique fighting styles."

Corporal waved to them enthusiastically. Private was the only one who waved back.

The man who Skipper internally dubbed as 'Classified' then gestured to the lady. "This is Eva, the intelligence of our operation. She's trained in every code imaginable and can hack into just about any database, in addition to extensive knowledge on psychological profiling."

Eva blinked slowly in response, as if she didn't particularly care about her rank, but someone else was already smitten. Skipper caught Kowalski practically drooling out of the corner of his eye and almost smacked the man. This was not a time or place for romantic feelings, as hypocritical as it was for him to think so. He avoided the urge to look at Julien.

"How do you do?" Kowalski held out his hand to her, smiling anxiously.

Eva shook his hand. "Fine, thank you."

"...And our youngest is Shortfuse. Previously a SEAL, now our demolitions expert. You can give him two scraps of metal and he can make a bomb, then defuse it within a matter of seconds." Classified sniffed indignantly, both proud and wary of his team member (it was evident that Shortfuse had done this before).

Shortfuse grinned, and Rico seemed to find this impressive enough to cackle out a response. Shortfuse glanced at him dubiously, and Rico only winked. Skipper wasn't sure what that meant and only hoped that Rico hadn't also developed a crush or some sort of interest. Classified seemed oblivious to this, or at least, he didn't care, and was satisfied enough to move on.

"...Nigel has explained the situation to us. Before we move on, I must ask - is there anything that we absolutely must know about Blowhole?" Classified paused, almost squinting at Skipper. "I've never personally met him."

"And you're lucky for it." Skipper huffed. "He's crafty, and he always has some dastardly no-good angle… He's insufferable, don't get caught in a conversation with him. Oh, and he hates Buck Rockgut, which just shows what a traitor he is."

"Oh, Buck Rockgut!" Private chimed in, beaming. "He was a wonderful fellow. I met him once! He came to my birthday party when I turned six."

"You _met_ him?" Classified both sounded and looked astonished. And for good reason; in addition to being MIA, Rockgut was famed and well respected. Very few had encounters with him and were still alive to tell the tale.

"Yes, Private, thank you for rubbing that in my face again…" Skipper grumbled.

"Goodness, sorry Skipper! I always forget." Private blinked up at him with a sheepish smile. It was well known among the four brothers that Skipper had voraciously admired Rockgut since the time he was a mere rookie.

Skipper waved a hand to dismiss the derailed part of their conversation altogether, before returning his attention to Classified. "That's about it."

"Well, there _is_ the location that the second email set was sent from," Kowalski cut in. His annoyance was palpable. "That _might_ be helpful, since he's _probably_ there."

"No need for that." Classified smirked pompously. "We have all his likely locations saved into our database, courtesy of Eva."

Eva blinked boredly at that, and Kowalski chewed his lip to hide the lovesick smile that was forming. Rico smacked him lightly, and Skipper coughed into his hand to make sure the North Wind wouldn't notice the fact that his brothers had a tendency to distract themselves. He mentally logged that he would have to slap Kowalski later.

"What do you plan to do?" He questioned seriously, lowering his brows.

"At Francis Blowhole's current, now latent status in the agency, we outrank him." Classified responded, and his lips spread into another grin. "We are at liberty to simply arrest him for his activities, but… We may ad-lib a bit."

Private was giggling at Blowhole's first name, oblivious to Corporal cracking his knuckles as Shortfuse tinkered with a very dangerous device. Skipper was well assured that they were eligible to handle the situation.

Downtown, a well dressed man was just entering Park Zoo. He had suited up for the occasion, wearing his finer silk tie in hopes it might distract from his missing eye or mechanical legs. No one seemed too perturbed, which was relieving. Many of the patrons were used to seeing crippling injuries or disabilities, especially since some of them were criminal enough to be the cause.

As he entered, he was swept back by the familiar grandeur tunes, lights, and dancing. On stage, an almost-nude woman was belly dancing, using large feathers like decorative fans to enhance her routine. On each side of her were four men, swaying their hips to the beat and getting ready for a tightrope performance. Just as the beat picked up, two men leapt into the air and performed double backflips. They ended this brief sequence as the other two caught them mid-air.

In the center of the crowd, three showgirls were surrounding a particularly wealthy politician and showering him in champagne, giggling and squealing as he groped at them. Not uncommon. To the edges, many dancers were giving patrons lapdances. In the very left corner, one dancer (that he recognized as Marlene) was chugging pure vodka with the surrounding crowd cheering her on.

One could always count on Park Zoo for a show.

"Hi there!" A perky, excited voice with a distinct malagasian accent caught his attention. A young man who he'd always made a point to avoid in the past came skipping up to him. "I'm Mort, I can be your server today! Want me to get you a table?"

"Actually," he responded quickly, openly cringing. "I would like to be served by someone in particular. Can you get me Doris?"

"Doris?" Mort repeated dumbly, blinking as if straining to recall. He jumped in recognition and nodded wildly. "Okay! I'll get her right now!"

He skipped away just as enthusiastically as he'd come, and the patron sighed in hopes that Mort wouldn't get sidetracked. The only reason the young man worked there was because he was Clemson's nephew. The man ran a hand over his forehead, stressfully, slicking back his pale gray locks. He only managed to calm himself at the mental reminder that his plan, no matter how bumpy it had been, would soon be wrapping up rather nicely.

He grinned softly at his soon-to-be triumph. Soon, his life would be far more simple, far easier to live in luxury and contentment once his long-term reminder of his past was eradicated. There was only one more thing to wrap up, of course.

"Hello sir," a sweet voice pulled him from his voice. He looked up to see Doris, smiling thinly down at him. "How may I help you today?"

"I'd like a glass of wine." He responded, and contemplated pulling out a cigar. "What do you have?"

She took a step closer, her expression darkening slightly in solemnity. "The only wine we have available is botrytized."

He was internally thankful for not having taken out a cigarette; if he had, he would have snapped it in half out of anger. Grinding his teeth, he glared up at her. "Noble rot?"

"It would seem that way… Sir." She stiffened.

"How did this happen?" He grumbled angrily.

"Well," her voice was quiet. "All the birds must have eaten the other kinds of grapes."

"That makes sense, doesn't it?" He snapped dryly. "I'll be on my way then. Thank you."

"Of course." Doris looked down at her feet. "...If you… If you see Parker-"

" _Thank_ you." He repeated, this time with stern malice as he gathered his jacket and stood.

Doris nodded quickly, grimly looking away and sniffling softly. The man regarded her with one last, brief salute before he was on his way. She didn't look back at him, only staring into the distance with a gaze of weary sadness. He departed from the Zoo rather quickly, glancing this way and that to make sure no one had caught on to him.

He went a roundabout way, ducking through alleys to make sure he wasn't being followed. When he felt assured in his solitude, he turned another corner. At the end of the backwater alley was a phone, hooked up directly to the otherwise barren brick walls. He approached speedily, the only sounds being his flashy oxfords clicking over the damp gravel and his metal joints whirring. He examined the vicinity one more time, just to make sure he was truly alone. He didn't want to risk being ambushed - even though he'd brought his gun, staying away from any sort of scandal was his main priority.

When he felt comfortable enough, he picked up the phone. Sure enough, it still worked. He punched in a long string of numbers, and waited through the humming rings. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. There was a response within seconds.

"Yello! Is that you, Doc? It's great to hear from you again so soon. How's New York? Is the weather holdin' up?" Clemson Gidro immediately flew into conversation. "Gotta say, I already miss the smell of smoke and cheap hot dogs."

He didn't respond, his scowl only thickening as if his impenetrable glare were about to tear apart the brick wall before him.

"Uh, Blowhole?" Clemson prodded anxiously. "You there?"

"...Julien's outed us."


	17. A Deal

**Chapter Seventeen: A Deal**

 _[One year ago]_

Clemson hurriedly ushered Dr. Blowhole and his cohort through the Park Zoo entrance. This was one of the more special nights. Though Blowhole was a common patron, he often did not stay on the lowest floor long enough to witness a full show, and this was Parker's first time at the Zoo altogether. The two of them were still on the fence about Clemson's plan, so he had resolved to dazzle them enough that they wouldn't be capable of refusing his ploy.

As they entered, the three of them were escorted to table that had been moved directly beside the stage to give them a good view. Dr. Blowhole, Clemson and Parker seated themselves in the gold cushioned chairs. Immediately, Doris appeared by their side, holding a silver platter with alcohol and desserts.

She smiled pleasantly at both Parker and Francis, delicately setting the contents of the tray before them. "Welcome to Park Zoo, gentlemen. Enjoy this complimentary wine - it's 1961 Perrier Jouët Blason Rosé."

Blowhole whistled as he watched his sister pour the drink. "That was a good year."

Doris poured a little extra for Parker, making sure to brush his hand as she gave him the champagne. He smiled thinly in response, before nodding to the desserts. "What are those?"

"Macarons." She practically sang, her red lips spreading into a pleased grin at his mild affection. "Featuring chocolate imported from France and edible gold cream."

"Very nice." Blowhole nodded, satisfied, and took one to eat.

Parker huffed and fiddled with his rings. He was half inclined to mention that he was allergic to chocolate, but instead took a sip of the wine. Just as he did so, the lights turned off.

Five spotlights lit up over different showgirls on stage. The music picked up, and the two on either side of the middle one began doing the can-can while the primary dancer belly-danced. This, of course, was only the beginning - the lights began to flash multiple different colors, all sorts of hues of red and orange and blue and purple. On the floor, the crowd was clamoring together in a mess of sweat and finesse. Two sprinklers shot on either side of the stage, shooting up not water, but chardonnay. It sparkled as it caught the light.

The deep red curtains behind the showgirls peeled apart, revealing an entire entourage. Shirtless men and scantily dressed women emerged, all sporting skimpy yet expensive outfits and jewelry as they swayed and danced to the sound of the music. From the center appeared a man that nearly took Parker's breath away.

Wearing only a black boa, matching shorts and boots, he strode forth, spinning as the music accentuated his movements. It was as though the music danced to him, not the other way around. He moved forth, fluid and controlling, the other dancers seeming to shy away from him. They immediately cleared a path for his movement. He was the main attraction. With his stunning, sensual amber eyes, thick lips and dark eyeshadow, it was hard to take one's eyes off of him. To his sides, two men breathed fire just as an acrobatic woman swung overhead.

Parker sucked in a heavy breath and took a long sip of his wine. He hadn't even noticed that Doris had taken it upon herself to sit halfway on his lap, too enthralled by the main dancer and his seductive existence. All he felt was the heat beneath his skin and the tremble in his fingers as he kept his gaze deeply trained on this alluring, incomprehensibly saccharine young man.

Noticing Parker's perplexity, Clemson leaned to his side and leered. "...That's Julien."

"Oh," Parker managed.

Julien was unspeakably gorgeous, and Parker cursed himself internally. Here he was, posing as Doris' boyfriend for the sake of getting paid, and yet he was practically drooling over a cabaret dancer. Not that he could truly blame himself; it was impossible to not at least recognize Julien's extraordinary charm and appeal. His dark skin shone beneath the sputtering lights, eyes sparkling as if unmatched by the cosmos themselves.

Parker had heard before, on his various trips and studies, that humans were made of stardust. Still, up until that point, he'd never given the theory a second thought. But as he looked at Julien, this remarkably enticing man who had the characteristics of a homme fatale, he knew that this was a human composed of only the most stunning, breathtaking, powerful stars.

Julien approached, sashaying down the side of the stage. As he did so, it was as if the floodgates broke loose - many of the dancers descended onto the dance floor to get in on the action. Overhead, brightly colored confetti plummeted from the ceiling, scattering amongst gold and red balloons that shone in the strobe lights. The music thumped, shaking the very ground. Women were performing trapeze acts above while men break danced and swallowed swords. The room was smoky with nicotine and marijuana, the thick aroma of sweat and heat and perfume and alcohol mixing in to create an overwhelming and surprisingly pleasant scent.

With his boa fluttering behind and beside him, Julien swung his hips as he found his way to Parker, Blowhole, Doris and Clemson's table. His stride seemed effortlessly smooth, subtle yet captivating. His black, thick hair seemed to flutter with every step, pieces of confetti swirling around him like they could not touch his skin. Julien smiled in such a way that Parker found himself holding his breath. He had a smile that outshone the sun, the kind of smile one would never see under normal circumstances. It was humble, tender, compassionate, seductive and confident all at once. A smile that translated pure feelings into something comprehensible and breathtaking, something that made his heart immediately burn.

"Welcome to Park Zoo!" He shouted, gentle and somehow soft-spoken despite the volume of his voice. "It is very good to be seeing you again, Dr. Blowhole."

"Yes yes," Francis nodded distractedly, keeping a keen eye on Marlene as she popped open a bottle of champagne, squirting it all over already drunken patrons. His eyes wandered down to her bodily assets while she giggled and danced. "Very good."

Julien turned to Parker and his heart stopped. Smiling that smile of true sincerity once more, he gently plucked the bottle of wine from the table and refilled Parker's glass. It was such an elegantly graceful movement that Parker wasn't even sure what was happening until Julien was resting his hip to one side, winking at him. All he could register at that exact moment was that he was feeling something he hadn't felt before, not once in his life. Something that Doris wanted him to feel for her, something he thought he wasn't capable of.

"I don't think I have been seeing you here before," Julien commented politely, blinking widely at him. "What do you call yourself?"

"Parker," he responded hoarsely, trying to still his shaking hands as he took hold of his glass and took another sip. "And you're Julien."

Julien rested his hand close to Parker's, and their knuckles brushed. He grinned. "Yes. I am."

Their eyes were caught in an impenetrable stare, communicating a sort of immediate mutual interest. Parker could instantly tell that Julien didn't feel anything that remotely resembled what he himself felt, but the spark was there. Julien's eyes were on him, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.

"Isn't he nice? I think he's just wonderful!" Clemson cut in, looping an arm around Julien to pull him close. "Parker, you're quite the guy."

Julien loosely draped his arm around Clemson, and Parker's heart plummeted as he realized what their relationship must have entailed. Clemson and Julien were lovers - and he knew he should have assumed such earlier. Clemson was inherently a greedy man; the idea that he would know of Julien's very existence and not seek to claim him was ludicrous. Parker's fist tightened around the stem of his glass and he smiled politely.

"Jule, don't you think that Parker's just great?" Clemson turned to his significant other for a preset approval.

"Of course, darling." Julien smiled faintly at Clemson, before his eyes swept back to Parker as if communicating some sort of secret, exclusive joke. His lips curved upwards in a manner that was almost coy. "I am very glad we have met."

"Me… Me too." Parker's sunken heart surged to life. He couldn't tell what Julien's angle was, if he was flirting or attempting to give some other sort of signal, but it rendered him flushed either way. He nodded awkwardly to punctuate his agreement and took another gulp of his champagne, finishing off the contents of his glass.

Clemson laughed a bit too loudly, and then his attention was on Doris, who had since moved from Parker's lap to chat idly with another waitress. "Doris, won't you be a dear and get us another bottle of wine?"

Doris looked back to him, her features twisting into mild dismay before they were masked again in professional sweetness. She had no particular interest in waitressing at the Zoo, no matter how spectacular it was. She only took the job because Parker had asked her to, and he had only asked her to because Blowhole has asked him to. With a curt nod, she ran her hand over Parker's shoulder and was on her way. Clemson watched her go away with a distant, slightly intoxicated smirk.

"Parker, you work for money, don't you? Like a normal man does, only, jobs that normal men might not take." Clemson commented, gaze sturdily focused on his guest as he continued to hold Julien close.

Setting his now empty glass back down on the expensive table cloth, Parker replied. "You could say that. Most people would do just about anything for the right price."

"Yes, that's true." Clemson agreed as if contributing some sort of wisdom, before he paused thoughtfully and shifted for a more comfortable position. "Many of my dancers have relatively affordable rates, but of course, I could always just… Overlook the fee altogether, if it brought you any closer to taking this job."

Parker glanced around, and was both satisfied and glad that Doris was not nearby. "...There is one that I'm interested in…"

"Assuming that offer applies to me as well, I'd be happy to spend the night with Marlene." Dr. Blowhole cut in, his eyes still firmly glued to the dancer he was so attracted to.

"She doesn't sell herself usually, but I'm sure she'll make an exception." Clemson laughed again, a sort of chortling that was almost villainous in nature. His attention returned to Parker. "And, you said you had a preference too, correct?"

Parker's fists tightened and he internally revelled in the cold pressure from his rings. He nodded, before his gaze was focused on Clemson's lover. "...I'd really like to sleep with Julien, if the two of you don't mind."

Julien looked almost completely unaffected by this comment, save for the mildly surprised and, perhaps, impressed expression that flashed over his features in the briefest of moments. On the other hand, Clemson's expression darkened entirely, fading away from his prior sense of humor and joy. Parker could practically see the cogs turning in his head as the Park Zoo owner weighed his priorities. Clearly he didn't want anyone to touch what 'belonged' to him, but he also wanted to save his sorry self from the Hoboken mafia.

"I didn't know you were interested in men," Blowhole blinked in surprise, momentarily taking his eyes from Marlene to glance at his long-time cohort.

"I'm not, really." Parker admit, his gaze steady on Julien, who was indifferent.

Clemson finally grinned, and he laughed so loud that Parker was sure everyone in the entire room had heard. He leaned forth and smacked Parker on the shoulder in a friendly manner that held slight undertones of frustration, before shaking his head with a smirk. "You've got some really wonderful spunk, I hope you know! It's thrilling, really! Isn't it thrilling, Jule?"

"Absolutely, dear," Julien's whimsical voice flowed from his lips like smooth notes from a piano, yet with a hint of facetious irony that Parker was sure he was the only one to pick up on.

"All right," Clemson wove a hand. "You can have him for a night, but only after you complete the job. Yeah?"

"Of course," Parker smiled. "It's a deal."


	18. Captured

**Chapter Eighteen: Captured**

If Classified could put his feelings into a single word, he'd say 'agitated'. Despite the fact that Eva had managed to compile a list of likely locations, Blowhole was a slippery fellow. Many of the locations had been abandoned and then wiped, completely devoid of any evidence that anyone had ever been there. This, of course, rendered them entirely useless and a waste of time. It was infuriating. Suddenly, Classified knew what Skipper meant when he said that Francis was insufferable.

They ended up traveling over the Hudson, all the way to Hoboken. Not a place Classified himself was particularly fond of, but he and his team went regardless. On the ride over, Eva did a bit more digging, and Classified was pleased when he discovered that this was most likely Blowhole's primary base, as many of his 'red officers' - as he so keenly dubbed them - were stationed there, and that was where most of his commands originated from (he had to admit, though, he was a little disappointed that they hadn't gone there first). The only problem after that was getting in. Immediately, they were met with two guards who didn't seem as if they had any inclination to allow the North Wind entry anytime soon.

"I'm tellin' ya, I can't let you in. The doc ain't here right now, and he's the only one who can decide whether or not we let newcomers inside." A red officer explained carefully as he stood outside the door. The one to his left nodded.

"We have clearance!" Classified snapped. "Do you know how far I outrank you?"

The officer looked to his partner, before the two of them looked back to Classified and shrugged. Classified wanted to rip his hair out.

"Allow me." Shortfuse murmured to him before he stepped forth and sent the two officers a particularly frightening grin. "Listen here. You let us in, or I will put the surgical tools in my backpack to good use and disembowel you on the spot. I'm very good with a knife, I can keep you alive for awhile while I play… Did I mention I used to be a SEAL?"

The two red officers shuddered visibly, blanching. The first one turned to the other, whispering audibly. "...Can he do that?"

"I dunno," the other one replied just as inconspicuously. "But he said he was a SEAL, so I'm guessin' we don't wanna find out!"

They returned their attention to the North Wind. "All right," said the first cooly, "We've decided we'll let you in this time - but only 'cause you said you outrank us, and we wouldn't wanna make the doc mad by not lettin' you in… Make yourself at home, but try not to mess up any of Blowhole's stuff. He gets _pretty_ mad."

"I assure you, it'll be like we were never even here." Classified smirked.

Satisfied with this, and completely oblivious to Classified's double meaning, the two officers allowed the North Wind entry. Eva pulled out small black tracking device that had a dull flashing light on the top, and her other three teammates fell behind her as she followed the indicator. After pacing through a handful of hallways, she finally spoke up.

"The main computer should be through this next staircase." She explained them, eyes on the device as she continued walking. "From there we can find out more about what he has been doing, and where he is right now."

"Wait, what's in here?" Corporal wondered out loud, causing the rest of them to pause.

He gestured to the indescript door beside them. It was a dark gray, in contrast to the pale of every other door. Whereas all the others had identification codes on them, this one was completely blank. Unfortunately for Blowhole, in his attempts to make it discreet, it only stood out more. Classified immediately frowned as he looked over it; he instantly had a bad feeling about it. Whatever this door was hiding was something sinister, something that would cause a layman to vomit instantaneously. He could feel it - it made his hair stand on edge. For all his experience, this made him uneasy. There was something wrong with this.

Eva glanced between the door and her device, seemingly torn about which one she wanted to find first. She turned to Classified, seeming to internally settle. "Sir. We have some time before Blowhole returns. It wouldn't hurt to check…"

"Yes, it does seem suspicious." He scowled. "Can you unlock it?"

"Certainly." She nodded, and stepped forth to do just that.

It only took a matter of seconds before they could enter, with Eva's skill level. Once they did, they were met with a very long hallway, completely void of anything save for another door at the very end. Corporal and Classified exchanged a dubious glance. As they advanced on the door, Eva prepared to unlock it, but they realized that it was an elevator. It only had one option: down.

Whatever it was that he was hiding, Blowhole had made it very tedious to get to it. After the elevator took them what must have been very deep underground, they were met with another door of much higher security. At that point, Classified wasn't even entirely sure if coming all this way was worth their time - he really _did_ want to get to that main computer - but he also knew that Blowhole had intentionally structured the passageway to be agitating so that anyone who might come down there on a whim would turn back before going all the way. He wondered how often Francis Blowhole himself came down here.

After the high security door was unlocked, they found a staircase that led them down a flight or so, into another door. This one, however, had a very basic lock that could easily be unlatched. Classified's hand faltered over the door handle. What was behind this door that was so elusive?

There was only one way to find out. With an anticlimactic push, he opened the door. A rush of stale air greeted them, and then there was this stench - a stench was so powerful and foul that the four members of the North Wind immediately recoiled. It was a potent smell of sweat, excrement, urine, and blood. There may have been the slight scent of chemical as well, but it was masked well by the very human odor. Inside, the room was split into half by a thick wall of glass, which was completely solid except for nine small holes in the center.

On the other side, lay an unconscious man, nude, malnourished, injured and dirty. He had clearly experienced a generous amount of abuse, judging by the visible wounds and weakness. He was curled up in the corner in the fetal position, shivering despite his sleep, surrounded by smears of dirt and tally marks of a deep crimson color (which Classified realized, with a shudder, was his own blood). In the opposing corner of the room there was a drain that had been used to collect his waste, but it clearly hadn't done a very good job, if the smell was any indication. Not much about him was particularly recognizable, save for the large burn scar encompassing his shoulder.

"O-oh my gosh," Corporal whispered as they all stared in disquieted horror. "Is that…?"

"It looks like..." Classified confirmed, just as perturbed. "It looks like Nigel's old agent, Hans."

Back at the Penguin Eyes office, Rico and Maurice were in the kitchen preparing lunch (Rico wanted to go with sushi, but Maurice insisted varanga - they ended up figuring out some compromise) while Private helped Kowalski sort through some files. Even though they'd put a lot of trust in the North Wind to help them, they still wanted to make sure they had all the information they could. They were, after all, in custody of two key individuals involved. Mostly, it was Kowalski working, while Private alphabetized and did busy work. Simultaneously, Skipper was in his personal office, alone with Julien.

He was seated at his desk, puffing a cigar while Julien stared out the window, holding onto the sill as if it were necessary for him to stand. The two of them had remained mostly in comfortable silence as they contemplated the situation at hand. Skipper wasn't entirely sure what was on Julien's mind, but he himself could only think of whether or not this was truly okay.

'This', of course, referring to his feelings for Julien. Was it really alright to drop Hans, to release him from his heart once and for all? Skipper knew the answer, but he still hesitated. He'd loved Hans, with every inch of his soul, and he knew that Hans had felt the same. Skipper never quite recovered from losing him. He'd had every chance in the world to replace him, but up until now, he'd never wavered from his faith to his dead partner.

And then, Julien came into his life.

There was just something about Julien, something so captivating and hauntingly enrapturing. Something irresistible. It was as if he and Julien were already connected, before they'd so much as met. Even if he chose not to love Julien (or act upon his love for Julien), it occurred to Skipper would never be able to get him out of his mind again. Julien just had that effect. But was it okay? Was it _okay_ to love again?

And if so, was it the same for Julien? Clearly, Julien did not have a happy relationship with Clemson, but that didn't mean he didn't love him. It was quite common in abusive relationships that the victim would convince themselves to love their abuser…

Skipper didn't have to think much more on that to realize how improbable it was, though; the idea of Julien loving Clemson was laughable and absurd, even butterfly-chasing Private could tell him that. The idea of Julien loving anyone was strange and unreasonable, even. He seemed so untouchable; he was meant to be loved, not to love. Skipper wondered if the same applied to him, if Julien would never truly love him. He wondered if Julien even knew what it meant to be in love.

"Julien?" Skipper spoke up, sincerity in his tone.

Julien, as if having expected Skipper to speak up at that particular moment, turned towards him in a slow yet fluid movement. He smiled, tiredly. "Hmm?"

Skipper found himself suddenly apprehensive and stared down at his lighter, fiddling with it. There was no cautious or easy way to ask this. "Have you ever been in love before?"

Julien's smile faltered slightly. "Love?"

Skipper nodded. "Yeah, love."

Julien turned back to the window, gazing quietly for a moment before he responded. "I loved my mother, and I love Maurice."

"Uh, that's not what I…" Skipper trailed off, furrowing his brow in confusion. He wanted to believe it was the language barrier, but he knew that ultimately, Julien didn't want to answer the question itself.

"I know." Julien laughed, an almost bitter sound. He then turned to Skipper once more. "Have you?"

Skipper suddenly understood why it was so uncomfortable to bring up this topic. He shrugged awkwardly and internally chastised himself for steering the conversation in that direction. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Julien's eyes swept over Skipper's desk and paused on the picture of Hans, before they returned to Skipper. "No," he replied softly, "I suppose it does not."

The two of them fell into a lapse of silence.

"I… Am sorry. I'm worried, terribly." Julien murmured.

Skipper sat up, silently urging for Julien to elaborate.

.

Julien's eyes fell. "At this point, I am very sure that Clemson has knowledge that I have told the truth to you."

The thought of Clemson somehow finding that out was ridiculous to Skipper. He stood and approached Julien in the most gentle way he could, before patting him on the shoulder. "There's no way he could know that." He assured, attempting a smile. "How _would_ he?"

Julien looked up at him, not seeming at all convinced. "He has his ways."

Skipper found himself placing his hand on Julien's, soft warm one. Julien's face reddened slightly and he gazed up at Skipper, as if he too was questioning whether or not this was okay. Skipper ended up leaning in a bit, halting just before he reached Julien's lips. Julien's eyes slowly fell shut, and brought their lips together.

It was magic. Julien's lips were soft against his, and sincere, more sincere than Skipper could have ever imagined when the two of them first met. If Skipper thought before that Julien was incapable of love, this was practically enough to prove him wrong. It was like the kiss he'd shared with Hans, but something… More. Something more desperate, something more passionate, something _more_ that just tugged at his heart and erased the world around the two of them. Skipper was in love.

Julien pulled away, looking dazed. "Skipper, I-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, a smoke bomb rolled into the room and promptly exploded, knocking the two of them out with sleep gas.


	19. Blowhole's Reveal

**Chapter Nineteen: Blowhole's Reveal**

When Skipper finally came to, he was alone.

His head was throbbing with an ache mirrored by his back and shoulders. He groaned softly as he stretched and opened his eyes, but was only met with darkness. It took an extra handful of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim, practically non-existent lighting - he could tell that he was in a tunnel, probably underground. And judging by the grimy odor and heavy atmosphere, it wasn't just any underground tunnel. It was a sewer. With a grunt, he sat up and rubbed his pained forehead. How long had he been out?

It must've been awhile, if his sluggish demeanor was any indication. Luckily, he didn't have to look very far to realize that he wasn't alone at all. A few feet away laid Maurice, unmoving and face-down. Skipper immediately stumbled over and checked his pulse. He sighed in relief when he felt that Maurice was clearly alive, just unconscious, as Skipper had been mere moments ago. Glaring, he realized that they - him, Maurice, and most likely Kowalski, Rico, Private, and Julien - had been knocked out by sleeping gas. Non-lethal, but only because whoever did it wanted to keep them alive. He'd been naive not to listen to Julien's warning immediately.

Skipper himself didn't have any injuries, aside from a sore back and a kink in his neck - and there was what looked like a small gash in his leg -, which could hardly be considered more than an inconvenience. Nothing he couldn't just ignore. He examined his unconscious companion; at first, nothing was out of the ordinary, but upon closer inspection, he discovered that there was something strapped to his chest. Skipper cursed himself for not having noticed it right away.

He pulled it off of it's velcro holding and discovered that it was a tape recorder. Skipper frowned as he felt over it - it was still intact, thankfully. So that was why they were kept alive - for the purpose of some sort of sick taunting. He quickly pressed the play button, and was alarmed at what he heard. Not that he honestly should've been, all considered.

"Hello Skipper, it's good to see that you've been well." The smug, prerecorded voice came out.

" _Blowhole_ ," Skipper snapped viciously. "That fiend - I should have known!"

"Yes, yes, I know, you're so very happy to hear from me again." Blowhole chuckled, having known that Skipper would've reacted the way that he did. "I can only imagine the look on your face right now!"

Skipper rolled his eyes, hoping Blowhole would get to the point already.

"By now I'm sure you know that I was behind all of this." Blowhole practically boasted. "But believe it or not, you were a very important part of my plan… And you played your part very well, Skipper."

Skipper glared at the tape as if it were Francis Blowhole himself, snarling mentally. What devious trap had he fallen into?

"Really, don't tell me you thought it was a coincidence that you and I were both involved in this incident! How could you be so thick? _Anyway_ ," he drawled. "As I said, you did your part perfectly. It was _Julien_ who screwed up."

The way he spat Julien's name with such malice made Skipper's scowl deepen. Great - another reason to hate Blowhole.

Blowhole went on. "The original plan was to have you 'accidentally' uncover that Julien was behind Clemson's murder, leaving Parker off the hook and out of jail... Only for Julien to later be proven completely innocent. Too late, though, because Julien would have been killed by another inmate. To think, a misunderstood, innocent man was sent to prison and then murdered, all because some nosy private investigators couldn't do their job right! Of course, this would put Penguin Eyes out of business _for good_."

Skipper gasped and growled, narrowing his eyes. So that was Dr. Blowhole's game! He knew that he had some sort of ulterior motive, something to benefit himself - he always did. He would never go out of his way to willingly help someone else, let alone someone like Clemson Gidro. Skipper had to resist smashing the voice recording before it finished; he would have punched Blowhole right in his mechanical eye if that heinous villain was present at the moment. The fact that he, Clemson, and Parker had so carefully planned for his downfall was infuriating beyond all belief. How dare he? Skipper had tried his best to not interact with him for the last several years, couldn't Blowhole just let his insubordination go?

Their rivalry hadn't even been that extreme. It wasn't like Skipper had been as at odds with Blowhole as Nigel had, or even Hans for that matter. Hans _hated_ Blowhole, but that was mostly because Nigel had made Hans work for him on certain missions when Nigel wanted Skipper for his own missions. Hans would constantly complain about Blowhole's overbearing behavior and sometimes relentless cruelty. Hans was also part of the reason Blowhole was relinquished of most of his power. After Hans and an entire cruise ship disappeared on one of Blowhole's missions, the CIA wasn't particularly happy. He lost a lot of his privilege, and then he wasn't given much liberty but to command his red officers around. The CIA honestly only kept him because he'd been around for so long, but they treated him as if he didn't exist.

But then, maybe that was part of it. Maybe Blowhole was still bitter about having lost his privileges, and since he couldn't take it out on Hans, he wanted to take it out on the next closest thing. The only remaining remnant of Hans' life: Skipper.

Luckily, Blowhole had a knack for dramatic pauses, which had been enough time for Skipper to contemplate as much as he did.

"But like I said, _Julien_ just had to ruin _everything_. I knew that idiotic loudmouth couldn't keep the plan to himself. Of course he didn't want to go to prison, and Clemson was dumb enough to think that threatening Maurice's life would be enough to stop Julien from opening his mouth. Apparently he didn't realize that Julien's just as selfish as he is stupid, so of course, Julien told you what was happening in hopes that he could save himself. Foolish… As if we wouldn't find out!" Blowhole continued his tangent, sounding both exasperated and prideful.

Skipper really wished, right then, that Blowhole was telling him this in person, so that he could strangle the corrupt police chief for slandering Julien with such awful lies. Julien, idiotic? Selfish? Stupid? Francis Blowhole was the one who...

"Lucky for me, I had a back-up plan." Blowhole went on, interrupting Skipper's furious thoughts. "Since Julien was a blabbermouth and told you all what was really going on, I thought, what better way to fix up his mess than to just kill him and blame you for his murder altogether? Saves me a lot of trouble, don't you think? That way I won't have to worry about Parker or Clemson… And you'll be behind bars before you know it."

Dr. Blowhole cackled eerily as Skipper drew in a sharp breath. He glanced around quickly - as he'd concluded before, it was just him and Maurice in sight. He was a bit less worried about his brothers, because he knew that they could handle themselves in most situations, but Julien… Julien was Blowhole's target (or rather, Skipper was, and Blowhole was going to get to Skipper through Julien). Which meant that Blowhole and Clemson most likely were in possession of Julien at that very moment. For all he knew, Julien could already be dead.

"Skipper, I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity. It wraps everything up quite nicely, doesn't it?" Blowhole taunted him with foul mirth. "With you, Kowalski, Rico and Private out of the picture, Nigel will be devastated enough that he'll step down from his job, which means that I can finally get mine back… And then there won't be anything to stop me from taking down the _Red Squirrel_ for myself. Au revoir, Skipper!"

A resounding click concluded his dastardly reveal.

Skipper's eyes narrowed as the recording ended. So that was the brunt of Blowhole's angle… Revenge against Skipper, Hans, and Nigel, getting back his job, and getting the glory of taking down American enemy number one: the Red Squirrel. The only enemy that Buck Rockgut himself couldn't take out. Of course they were all selfish reasons. That was the only thing Blowhole understood; greed. And, as apparent through his convoluted plot, he'd do anything he could to get what he wanted. No matter who he destroyed.

The only question that left him with was, why did it take Blowhole so long to go through with this? Why did he wait eleven years to go through with this plan?

Even though Clemson's turmoil was the foundation for his ploy, he could have found another way to enact his immoral, vindictive scheme. Why wait? Was it dramaticism, or was it something more? Skipper knew Blowhole was crafty and theatrical, but he was also impatient. Which one outweighed the other?

Suddenly, he heard a soft beeping sound. He squinted, and sure enough, there was a little red light coming from the tape recorder. His eyes widened and quickly, he threw the bombed device into the sewage, where it promptly detonated. He pulled himself and Maurice back just in time to miss the spray. Well, there went all the evidence of Blowhole's involvement in this plot… Of course he wouldn't simply leave behind a taped confession. He was dramatic, not stupid.

"What in the queen's name was that?" He heard the distant voice of Private exclaim.

"I don't know," an equally far Kowalski replied. "Let's go check it out. Rico, stop digging through that trash, come on!"

Skipper was relieved to know his men weren't too far away, at least within the reachable vicinity. One (or rather three) less things to worry about. He would have gotten up to meet them halfway, but beneath him, Maurice groaned into consciousness. Skipper stared down in alarm and helped the process by shaking him slightly. Maurice sluggishly swatted away his hands.

"Maurice?" He questioned cautiously. "Are you awake?"

"I am now," Maurice's responded groggily, before shifting out of Skipper's arms and sitting up. He rubbed the side of his no-doubt aching head and scrutinized Skipper. "What was that bang? And…" He cast a glance around. "Where _are_ we?"

Skipper frowned grimly. "We're in the sewer system, hopefully still beneath New York. That explosion you heard? A now-gone voice recording that Dr. Blowhole left me, that no-good, scheming…-"

"Dr. Blowhole?" Maurice echoed, blank for a moment before he recognized what was going on. "He - he put us in the sewer?"

"Affirmative." Skipper grunted. "Probably just to rub salt in the wounds."

Maurice's eyes darted around frantically as he realized what Skipper was getting at. "Where's Julien?"

Skipper stood up and faced the direction he'd heard his brothers, still just as solemn. "Hopefully still alive. Blowhole said he wants to kill Julien and then frame me and my boys for the murder - or maybe just me, he wasn't really too clear - to put Penguin Eyes out of business for good and ruin my reputation. Maybe put me in prison, too. Which means we have to move now if we want to save him."

"Skipper?" Kowalski's call echoed down the tunnels, his silhouette emerging on the other end. "Is that you?"

"Yes!" Skipper shouted back. "I have Maurice with me!"

He went to approach them, but Maurice stood and held onto his shoulder. Skipper sent him a slight glare. "Did you miss the part about us moving _now?_ "

"Skipper," Maurice spoke dryly, seeming anxious and troubled. "I…"

"What?" Skipper demanded. They were short on time, and he wanted to do whatever he could to save Julien.

Maurice's steady gaze turned almost cold.

"I know about Hans."


	20. Unrequited Affair

**Chapter Twenty: Unrequited Affair**

 _[Two months ago]_

Julien was sitting in his room, staring into his mirror and removing all the make-up he could. He frowned at his reflection when his eyeshadow remained, but he knew that no amount of scrubbing would ever get rid of the dark black ink on his lids. He remembered the pain of getting the color tattooed there, trying hard not to cry because Clemson would hit him if he messed it up. It was just another reminder of who he belonged to, that there was no escape. That the world Clemson had put him in would always be a part of him.

Speak of the devil, loud thumping footsteps were rushing towards his room. Julien stiffened, but didn't turn. There was no where to run. There never was; not from Clemson. Soon enough, a very drunk Clemson stumbled into his bedroom, slurring curses as he staggered towards Park Zoo's main dancer. He'd just come from the 'business rooms', and judging by how intoxicated he was, he'd probably just missed out on some sort of big (illegal) deal.

"C'mere," Clemson hissed, tripping despite his clear path.

Julien rose to a stand, only to be yanked back by Clemson who had a sharp grip on his hair. Julien winced and resisted the urge to cry out, knowing that the loud sound would only piss off his lover more. Julien kept his stare trained on the ground, as if guilty of whatever it was Clemson was going to blame on him this time. It was practically ritual by then.

"You're shit at dancing." Clemson snapped. "I lost a lot of money tonight, 'cause you just didn't want to spread your legs a little further."

So that was what this was about. Julien inwardly sighed - he'd gone through the dance routine that Clemson had given him. It was a pointless thing to blame him for, but he did nothing in response, only waiting for his punishment. Clemson was heaving deep breaths by then, glaring at Julien with such intense hatred that no one would have ever believed he felt anything more than contempt for him.

"I'm sorry," Julien whispered.

Clemson backhanded him with a snarl. Julien was thrown to the ground from the force of it, where he purposefully crumpled with more submission than necessary. He knew better than to show any sense of control. Still, he couldn't help but whimper a bit in honest pain, biting his lip to avoid the sob that wanted to arise. He'd have to borrow some more foundation from Marlene to cover up the new injury.

"You're pathetic!" Clemson shouted, and he kicked Julien in the ribs hard enough to bruise. "You're lucky I keep you around, you know that? Without me, you'd be nothing. You better fucking be sorry!"

Julien bowed his head, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. Basic emotional manipulation; after seven years of being in Clemson's abusive clutches, it had gotten almost stale. Julien could predict his every movement, his every insult. It didn't make it hurt any less, but it was good for him to step outside of himself and recognize that Clemson wasn't speaking factually or with remote logic. Seven years together and Clemson didn't know a thing about Julien.

"Clean up your act." Clemson spat as one last sentiment before he stomped away.

Julien remained in that position for several minutes, listening astutely to ensure that Clemson was indeed far away. When he was sure that he was alone, he allowed the burst of tears to leave his perpetually painted eyes. His ribs hurt like hell, and he knew that it would upset Maurice deeply if he found out… The older man was just so saddened by what the two of them had to put up with for survival's sake. He'd tried to stand up for Julien in the past, but then Clemson had just threatened to kill the both of them and be done with it. After that, Maurice knew neither of them were in a position to speak up against Park Zoo's charismatic owner.

Julien sniffled for a little while, and wiped his tears in hopes that it wouldn't agitate the black eye that would soon be forming. He needed to be beautiful if he wanted to keep his position of worth within this godforsaken establishment. Without his pretty face, no one would give him a second glance, regardless of any of his other assets. Two degrees and yet he was only a sex symbol.

When he finally felt safe enough to move, he shifted to pull a small, discreet bag from under his bed. Inside were dozens of pictures, some worn from having been held countless times over the years. They brought a sense of calm within him, to which he settled and his tears faded altogether. He got lost in their depth for a moment or so, reminiscing about a life that could have been, a life he'd never have.

"You all right there, doll?"

Julien whipped around in surprise to see Parker standing in his window, balancing on it's sill. Parker hopped in, grinning in a pleased manner to see his secret boyfriend. Julien gasped, and discreetly tucked the bag back under his bed. He shakily rose to a stand.

"Parker! What are you being here for?" He exclaimed in a hushed voice. "How did you get up to the third floor?"

Parker came forth and brushed Julien's hair behind his ear, sincere in his actions. "I came to see you, sweetheart. Check up on you… I couldn't stay away."

Parker leaned in and drew Julien into a kiss. He pulled back, and before Julien could speak, punctuated his affection with a peck. He then repeated.

"Just couldn't stay away."

Julien looked away from Parker's unrelentingly sincere gaze, the twinges of guilt fluttering behind his consciousness. "You are very sweet. But… If Clemson was to be finding out… He'd be very angered. You know how he can be getting."

His face throbbed, a grueling reminder that Clemson was _not_ someone he wanted to infuriate.

Parker leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I know, believe me, I do. Doris has been more and more clingy lately. I don't think she understands that I only pretended to like her to convince her to get a job here… She thinks we're serious. I don't see how she'd believe anything like that, with a brother like her's."

"Being led on isn't very fun." Julien commented, kissing Parker's cheek in response.

"Did someone tell you that?" Parker laughed dryly, more a joke to himself than Julien. "Oh, it can be fun. If you're far gone enough. Enough so that you just don't give a damn."

The two of them stared at each other for a handful of seconds, before Parker took notice of the forming bruise on Julien's cheek. Carefully, he brushed over it with his knuckles and concern flitted over his visage. Julien's gaze dropped to the floor. He hated when people confronted him about Clemson's abuse. There was nothing he could do or say to escape. That was the point, wasn't it?

"He will get mad again if he finds you here," Julien murmured, not bringing his stare to Parker's.

Parker huffed and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It lasted for longer than Julien would have wanted, but he allowed it. He held in the sigh that was forming when Parker tugged him closer, his shaking hands running up and down Julien's arms. Parker was an avid lover, someone who got lost in the touches the moment they began. Julien wasn't unaccustomed to this sort of behavior. Parker drew back only to offer a suggestion.

"Do you want me to make you feel better?" He cooed, in a way that indicated that he more or less wanted to make himself feel good, regardless of his true intentions. Maybe he convinced himself that it was for Julien, but Julien knew the truth. Sex was not a selfless act.

Julien wished he could be free, for one moment, to cry and scream and pull away from the world of sleaze he'd become a part of. He wished that he could push Parker away and tell him that he didn't want to have sex, he'd just been backhanded by his boyfriend of seven years for christ's sake. He wished he could tell Clemson that he hated him and everything he stood for, that he hated Park Zoo and that he hated the debauchery and how they'd defiled the art of dance by turning it into something to be hidden, something laden with crime and manipulation.

He smiled gently, and nodded.

Parker was elated by this, his eyes lighting up with lust as he embraced Julien once more. Wrapping his arms around Julien's waist, he pulled their torsos together and drew him into another vigorous kiss. Julien allowed it to happen. One of Parker's arms coiled back around so that he could caress Julien's sore cheek, and Julien brought up his hand to remove Parker's rings. Parker kept poison within them, and Julien wasn't entirely keen on getting pricked by them, no matter how much he detested the life he lived at that particular moment. All his life, climaxed by this particular moment? No, thank you.

Julien managed to both satisfy and distract himself with the reminder that if Clemson knew that Julien was cheating on him, he'd be furious and hurt. Clemson slept with others all the time, but Julien was the one he considered 'his', the one who belonged to him and no one else. It would be a devastating blow to his self esteem to know that Julien, Park Zoo's benevolent treasure, had been unfaithful. This made Julien, at least, slightly smug as he attempted to disregard what he was presently experiencing. Clemson would have hated this, and therefore, Julien didn't dislike it nearly as much as he could have.

Parker didn't seem to mind his inattentive behavior, instead getting wrapped up in Julien's sensual aura. He pressed into Julien, bringing him towards the bed and setting him down against the extravagantly comfortable sheets. Julien, once again, allowed this to happen. There wasn't much he could do to stop it, and he needed Parker for his own uses, so he wasn't about to do anything to upset him. Besides, Parker wasn't an inherently bad individual, even if he was on the other side of the glass. Julien didn't even hate him, not really.

He could tell that Parker was beginning to get more emotional with each kiss, as they grew more fervent and desperate. This happened every time Parker surprised him with a visit. A quick chit-chat, and then Parker would make some sexual advances, and then he'd get so caught up in Julien that he could hardly control himself. Julien knew the routine, was used to his lovers and how they worked. Parker was nothing special.

Julien kissed back, lightly fluttering against Parker's skin as the trained assassin stripped them of their clothing. Parker pulled back suddenly, staring into Julien's eyes with raw adoration and agonizingly profound sincerity. He looked as if he wanted to cry and laugh and make love all at once, and Julien felt Parker's heartbeat quicken against his own chest.

"Tell me you love me," Parker whispered, voice caught in his throat. If he spoke any louder, he might've sobbed altogether. "Only for tonight… Tell me you love me."

Julien's eyes fell. "Parker…"

"I know." Parker squeezed his eyes shut, his arms straining as he held himself above his lover. "I know, I know. Just… Tell me you love me. Just… For right now."

Julien looked at him. "I love you," he lied.

"Thank you." Parker allowed his forehead to rest against Julien's, sighing in great relief.

Julien nodded and ran a hand through Parker's hair. Parker continued to feel him over, grasping and touching with unbridled need. Parker kissed all over his neck, and in his murmurs, he repeatedly whispered 'I love you' again and again. Julien allowed this to happen, too.

That was just business.


	21. Freedom

**Chapter Twenty One: Freedom**

"I know about Hans."

Skipper felt, for a moment, as if his lungs collapsed and his heart fell through his chest. Flashes of memories leapt through his vision in white flashes and painful squeezes. His stomach turned and when he became self aware again, he found that he was short of breath. It wasn't often that Hans' name triggered him, but to hear it come from Maurice's mouth - and with such bizarre conviction - caused an involuntary reaction.

He stepped back, and his brows furrowed into something that was probably angry. "What are you talking about?" He demanded, bewildered and slightly pained.

Maurice looked down. "I know about the two of you, and I know that Hans was arrested for killin' Clover."

That was a lot of information that didn't make any sense to Skipper. "I don't understand," he growled, deciding that this made him mad. "You knew about… Us? What did you know? And- he wasn't arrested for anything. How did you know about him, anyway?"

"I knew you were partners," Maurice explained, still retaining his dark, almost accusatory tone. "And yes he was. Eleven years ago-"

"Hans died." Skipper snapped, interrupting him with a steely scowl. He felt rage building within him. What was Maurice talking about? What was he trying to say? He'd had enough slandering of his romantic interests for one day.

"Died?" Maurice seemed confused suddenly. "No, he was arres-"

"Skipper! Oh, it's jolly good to see that you're right as rain!" Private interrupted them, running over. He embraced Skipper tightly.

Skipper pat his younger brother's back before stepping away from the hug, but his glare was still fixed on Maurice.

Maurice looked back to him and simply muttered, "We'll talk about this later."

"Agreed." Skipper grumbled. He turned to see Kowalski and Rico only a few feet away.

"'Ey, y'kay?" Rico asked, about as sensitive as he could possibly be.

"We're fine." Skipper replied, not bothering to return the sentiment before continuing. "Blowhole left me a voice-recording."

"Let me take a wild guess. It was rigged to explode?" Kowalski suggested grimly.

"Bingo." Skipper grunted humorlessly.

"Good heavens," Private gasped. "What did he have to say?"

Skipper ran a hand through his hair. "He originally planned to have us accidentally frame Julien for Clemson's murder, only to somehow prove Julien innocent later on. But, only after Julien was killed by another guy while in prison. That way, he'd put us out of business. Since we found out, though, he's just going to kill Julien himself and say we did it."

"Great electromagnetic radiation!" Kowalski blanched. "That explains why he's not here right now - Blowhole must have him."

Skipper nodded. "We have to get moving, now. Any idea where we are?"

"No," Kowalski gestured to the ladder on the wall that led to the surface. "But I have an idea as to how we can find out."

The North Wind had dropped by their Manhattan safe-house to help Hans recuperate. He had remained mostly out of commission on the ride over, slipping in and out of consciousness and mumbling nonsense. Corporal, who'd been in charge of interrogations, had carried him in and out with relatively few questions. Anyone who got too nosey or suspicious, Shortfuse was quick to take care of. The red officers weren't particularly competent.

Corporal had taken decent care of him. Their safe-house wasn't designed for comfort, but it did have a shower, which he put to good use in scrubbing the grime off of Hans' pale skin. After that, he was a bit more awake, enough to ask where he was and what was happening. Classified tried to give him the same lengthy description of their business that he had Skipper, but Hans didn't seem to fully comprehend what was going on, and just stared at him blankly.

Hans was malnourished enough that it would have actually been better for him to have had an IV, but their safe-house wasn't meant for facilities of extreme measures like that, so they did what they could with what they had. Corporal prepared him some hot soup and gave him a water bottle that he promptly consumed. When he was well enough, Corporal gently settled across from him at the table mid-room and decided to begin their interrogation.

"Can you confirm that you are Nigel's CIA agent, Hans?" Corporal questioned him as Hans nursed his bowl of soup.

"Yes," Hans murmured, rubbing his fingers over the warm surface of the bowl. He didn't make eye contact with Corporal. "My last mission was… A long time ago, I'm not sure how long now, in Copenhagen, Denmark."

Corporal peered down at him sadly. "Eleven years ago."

Hans' hands paused for a moment, and his lips twitched. "...Oh."

"Do you know where you've been for all this time?" Corporal pushed his notebook aside, deciding that he didn't even want to bother taking notes for this interrogation. Hans' downtrodden expression and demeanor was enough for him to remember for a long, long time.

"With Dr. Blowhole." Hans' eyes squeezed shut momentarily, before he picked up his spoon and began to tenderly stir the still steaming bowl of soup. "A prisoner of war."

Corporal was slightly bewildered by this. "War? If I'm not mistaken, you and Blowhole both work for the CIA - and, unless you mean the handful of international conflicts we helped settle, there wasn't a war when…"

"It was a secret." Hans elaborated softly, clearly unused to non-hostile conversations. "Ze Red Squirrel… It was about ze Red Squirrel."

"The Red Squirrel?" Corporal sat up in alarm. "Your capture had to do with the Red Squirrel?"

"It had everything to do with ze Red Squirrel," Hans bitterly explained, almost smiling but not quite. "Nigel assigned me and my dear partner, Skippar a mission… On every log you can find, and as far as Skippsy knew, all we had to do was get some informations from one of ze Red Squirrel's double agents. But there was more to it than that."

Corporal shifted uncomfortably. He knew of this mission - everyone who was anyone knew about Skipper and Hans and their tragic last mission. Not many dared to bring up the idea that there was, as Hans said, more than what met the eye or what was written down on the mission files. Finding Hans, still alive, let alone in Blowhole's captivity was staggering on its own. The idea that there was some sort of cover up? This would shake the CIA altogether.

Hans took a small sip of his soup, before continuing, still solemn and hurt all at once. He trembled. "Nigel gave me a secret mission to do while I was there. He did this lots, actually, when I went on ze Blowhole missions… Nigel never trusted him, and it's not hard to see why."

Hans paused to glare sourly at nothing for a moment while Corporal internally paled. He knew that Hans had gone on a lot of missions for Blowhole, and no one ever knew why Nigel kept making him work for another division. Now he knew, and it supplied him with concern. Nigel was right to be suspicious about Blowhole, all considered, but it was still frightening to think about all the secrets and espionage that went on beneath the surface. The CIA was meant for this sort of thing, but to spy on each other? It alerted him that perhaps he couldn't even trust his own team…

"Apparently our informant had some bad intels, or zat she was a triple agent against us, or maybe just had something zat Nigel didn't want us or Blowhole to know… He didn't tell, I didn't ask." Hans sighed. "My job vas to kill her before she could tell us anything. Without my sweet Skippar knowing, of course."

Corporal gasped silently. He had a feeling he knew which agent Hans was referring to, the agent that Nigel had ordered him to execute. Just to clarify, however, he spoke up. "Are you… Talking about the deceased agent Clover?"

"Who else?" Hans' smile looked painful.

Corporal tried to fathom that Nigel would order Clover, of all agents, to be taken out. She was a hero, practically legendary. The idea of her death being purposeful was a game-changer.

"At dinner zat night, I gave my palsy-walsy Skippar some sleeping pills so zat he wouldn't wake up ven I left. Triazolam, I think…? It's hard to remember," Hans made a sound that was something between a laugh and a sob. "I left, after he was sleeping… He was so precious back then, I-..."

Hans' voice broke and he wiped away a few tears. Corporal then began to fully grasp the depths of Hans and Skipper's relationship; he'd been told in the past that they were like Manfredi and Johnson, or Nigel and Buck. A well-oiled machine, two wheels on a bike, the inseparable duo that could take on the world if ordered to do so. He understood now that they weren't just two agents that worked well together, though. They were…

Hans cleared his throat. "I found Clover soon enough. I zink she knew zat I was going to come for her, somehow… She put up a fight and, I didn't know at ze time, but she managed to send a distress signal to Dr. Blowhole before I killed her. And, after that, he came… And zen there vas only chaos."

He stared into the distance wistfully for a moment or so, before Corporal gently spoke up. "Are you saying that Francis Blowhole was the cause of the ship's capsize?"

"Oh, I am sure he covered it up sehr gut, ze clever bastard." Hans' tone transitioned into a sardonic sneer. "Killed all of ze passengers on ze lifeboats… I heard zat only my darling Skippsy made it, since he was asleep ven everyone else abandoned ship."

Corporal knew his eyes were watering, his heart broken by the sheer pain evident in Hans' every word. Did Hans blame himself for their deaths? "And… And you?"

Hans' eyes focused back on his interrogator, as if for the first time remembering the context of his reminiscing. He sent him a plaintive smile, something cryptic about his words. "I disappeared."

"But you didn't," Corporal protested. "You're here now… And people don't just disappear."

"Sometimes zey do." Hans responded wryly. "Nigel can tell you zat - you know, it's vat he says happened to Buck Rockgut. He just… Disappeared. MIA forever - where? No one knows." He waved his hands mystically.

Corporal shifted in his seat, becoming increasingly nervous. Hans' disappearance had been well covered. No one really asked _where_ he went, no one ever bothered to send search parties into the ocean. They just assumed he would be gone forever, and the same had been done for Buck Rockgut. Agents, no matter how legendary, were expendable. It had been drilled into their heads. The way Hans spoke about him made Corporal feel as though there were something more, though, and now that his mind had been expanded enough by Hans' exposure of the truth, he was sure that there was something he didn't know. Something probably only a handful of his superiors knew.

"I tried to explain to Blowhole zat Nigel ordered me to kill her, zat it vas beyond him, but he didn't listen… He just vanted to hurt me, you know? And he did…" Hans got that distant look in his eyes again. "I… I just vanted to make sure zat Skippsy vas safe. And Blowhole… I knew zat he could get him if he vanted."

Corporal's brow furrowed. Among the many pieces of Hans' story that confused him, something in particular that didn't make sense stood out to him. "Why did Nigel not want Skipper to know about the mission?"

Hans sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Oh, mein süß Skippar… You know, Manfredi and Johnson were originally supposed to replace Nigel and Buck. Me and Skippsy were just trainees at ze time, in Shanghei…"

Corporal's eyes widened as he realized what Hans was talking about.

"It vas one of Blowhole's missions, you know? Denmark wasn't his first 'mess up'. Manfredi and Johnson were still in ze building ven it exploded… Ve couldn't get zem out. And I mean, ze two of zem had so many near-death-experiences. Notorious for it, even. But zis time - it got really messed up… After zat, Nigel lost faith in ze two of zem. So he looked at me and Skippar and thought, 'ah, these two will do'. And he made us into his perfect soldiers. Skippar vas Nigel, and I… I vas Buck." Hans closed his eyes.

Corporal decided that this was more than enough information, and sent Hans the most sympathetic expression he could. "He's still alive, you know… We actually came here because - well, after you disappeared, he became a private investigator. He took on this case, and Dr. Blowhole was involved… That's how we found you."

Hans opened his eyes, and they were reddened with raw tears. He sniffled. "C-can I see him? Zat is all I vant in life. Just to see my dear Skippsy…"

Corporal smiled. "I think we can help you with that."


	22. Attempted Murder

**Chapter Twenty Two: Attempted Murder**

The North Wind had made their way to the Penguin Eyes headquarters. On the way there, Hans was rather astounded by how much things had changed in the past eleven years, as he should have been, having been in complete isolation. He seemed as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to look out the window or if he wanted to listen to Shortfuse's (slightly) embellished version of history. Shortfuse didn't seem to notice his confliction.

More than anything, though, he seemed anxious to see Skipper. Eleven years away from the man he loved and in a few minutes, they'd be reunited. Anxiety didn't even begin to capture what he was feeling by that point. They'd called, but there hadn't been an answer, which made it all the more suspenseful being that it was a surprise. A surprise visit from a man who Skipper had thought was dead for over a decade.

Hans expressed the hope that Skipper still felt the same way, that he still wanted to be Hans' partner, that he hadn't found someone to replace him. No one mentioned Julien, or Skipper's very obvious feelings for the alluring dancer, in hopes that the three of them could somehow work it out and there wouldn't be any turmoil. Classified in particular was no fan of excessive drama, especially of the romantic flavor.

By the time they pulled up to the Penguin Eyes' building, Hans was stirring in his seat nervously and tugging at his fingers. He stared at the dirty, beaten up two story structure in wonder, almost in complete disbelief of it's merit.

"Is this really where Skippar lives? It's so..." He questioned, trailing off.

"Yes." Classified responded shortly. "I know, it's quite rustic - especially for someone as legendary as him, but I suppose that's part of the ruse to seem normal. As normal as you can be in New York, that is."

" _Legendary_ ," Hans repeated in astonishment.

He still couldn't quite grasp that he and Skipper were 'legends' to the much fresher CIA agents. He knew he'd been good at his job, but to be a hero, or even a martyr for their work, was astounding.

Classified knocked on the door, but of course, there was no answer. Just an empty echo of his knock. He blinked in surprise. "...That's strange."

"Maybe they're not on the first floor," Corporal proposed, glancing to Hans.

"Well of course not. There is no first floor." Classified glared at the locked door. "Last I checked, it was all barred up. I'm sure they could hear us from the second floor, anyway. How else would they receive guests?"

"It doesn't look like they left." Eva frowned, narrowing her eyes. "Their car is here…"

Classified picked the locked door with ease and peered up. All the lights were off. Sending a suspicious glance to his team and the very concerned Hans, he ascended the wooden stairs. Aside from their creaking footsteps, it was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Hans glanced around at the eerie home, nervous as he could be.

Where was his beloved Skipper?

 _Where?_

They silently came to a consensus to give a brief search. However, they didn't have to look very far; Classified froze as he entered the kitchen. There was serious evidence of a struggle, pots and pans everywhere and broken glass all over the floor. Unfinished food was sitting on the counter, probably from when they'd been preparing lunch. He growled immediately, holding Hans back from stepping in. Corporal poked his head in from Skipper's office. Judging by the dire expression on his face, the other rooms looked about the same.

"Alright, looks like there was trouble." He muttered in conclusion. "Blowhole probably caught onto them… I'm surprised he didn't bother to clean up after himself… He probably planned to have this building destroyed altogether."

" _Blowhole_ got to them?" Hans freaked out. "No no no - we have to get him away from Skipper!"

"We will." Classified responded calmly, before turning to his comrade. "Eva?"

"Yes sir." She pulled out a small black tracking device marked 'K'. She examined the light. It indicated something in particular to her, even though to everyone else in the room, it meant absolutely nothing. "It seems that they're not very far. We can make it to them in about ten minutes, if we leave now."

Classified smirked. "I knew you wouldn't have shaken that Kowalski's hand for no reason."

She grinned back, before leading the way to the Penguin Eyes team.

"Kowalski, location?" Skipper muttered as he helped pry Private from the sewer opening.

"We seem to be in downtown, at a midpoint between our house and the Park Zoo." Kowalski glanced around; his voice was strained as he helped Private reach the surface.

"So which one is he at?" Private sent the two of them thankful glances, smoothing out his crumpled shirt and straightening his bowtie.

Kowalski sighed. "It's a tactical move on Dr. Blowhole's part. He wants to confuse us, but I'm sure he actually just went back to his private facilities back in Hoboken… That's where the string of emails came from, last I checked. There, or to his vacation spot in Havana, but I don't think he'd go that far, not on such short notice with so many variables to account for."

"Hoboken? As in Hoboken, New Jersey?" Maurice rose a brow in disbelief. " _That's_ where Clemson is hiding? In the same place as the people he's runnin' from?"

"Huh," Private mused. "I suppose that's sort of clever."

Maurice ran a hand over his face in dry exasperation, looking more weary than ever. "And I'm guessin' they brought Julien there too… Just great. How are we gonna get there in time, assumin' he's still… Y'know…? We don't got a car, unless we wanna make the run back to your place..."

Skipper drew in a quick but deep breath, and Kowalski immediately winced. He turned to Maurice and whispered, "I'd cover your ears if I were you."

Maurice did so quickly, and just in time too. Skipper pressed two fingers into his mouth and whistled so loud that traffic briefly slowed down for people to rubberneck the private investigator and his ridiculously loud whistle. Maurice was honestly surprised no windows broke. A cab quickly pulled up to them, and Skipper finally stopped (even though he did, everyone's ears continued to ring).

"Where to, fellas?" The deep voiced man inquired.

"We gotta get to Hoboken, asap." Skipper replied as he entered.

The rest of his team - and Maurice - followed suit. It was a bit of a squeeze, but they made it work. The driver didn't seem to mind.

Private was frowning. "Skipper… Not to be rude, but I thought you said you'd never willingly go to Hoboken?"

"Not since Lola." Skipper nodded solemnly. "But I think this is emergency enough for me to make an exception."

"You boys aren't a huge fan of Jersey, huh?" Their driver grinned. "Me neither."

"It's a crime-ridden cesspool." Skipper muttered in what he considered to be complete objectivity. "Normally, I'd rather gouge out my own eyes instead of going there."

Their cab driver laughed, maybe a bit too loud. He lowered his sunglasses, peering into his mirror and seeming to look somewhere behind their car. He then hid his eyes once more and kept his eyes - hopefully - back on the road.

They continued on in silence for the next ten or so minutes, before their driver spoke up again. "Now, you boys wouldn't happen to be the Penguin Eyes, would you?"

Skipper and Kowalski exchanged a mildly surprised glance, before Skipper cleared his throat. "...We are. You recognize us?"

"Yeah, you could say that," the driver laughed, and suddenly he was speeding up.

"Oh dear - could you perhaps slow down a bit? You're driving quite like Rico!" Private exclaimed, holding onto the door.

Rico nodded and mumbled in agreement, but their driver only laughed louder and sped up even more. It was clear by then that he had negative intentions, something dangerous in mind for his customers.

Skipper, who was sitting in the passenger seat, glared at him and surged forth, ready to attack. The driver countered by grabbing his wrist and pushing him backwards. He had one hand on the wheel, and one holding back Skipper's closed fist. Skipper used his free hand to try and commandeer the wheel, but the cab driver sped up more to make him lose his balance. By that point, their car was aimed towards a brick building. If he didn't veer, which he didn't seem keen on doing, they would crash. And at that speed, they probably wouldn't make it.

"You maniac!" Skipper snapped. "You'll die too!"

"I wouldn't count on it," he sneered darkly, and he suddenly twisted Skipper's arm. "The name's X, by the way. Officer X. And your little buddy, Dr. Blowhole, isn't gonna let me die anytime soon."

Kowalski glanced out the back and saw another car following them, full of red officers. He wasn't sure how their plan was supposed to work, but he knew that they had one, and that was good enough to scare him. That, and Officer X's confidence. Anyone who could smile while driving a car over 90 mph towards a solid wall of brick had an intimidation factor to them.

Skipper had enough of Officer X's shenanigans. He twisted his arm out of X's grip and punched him right in the throat. X hadn't been expecting that, coughing and swerving as he momentarily lost control. Skipper brought his legs up and kicked X right out of the door. Officer X shouted as he made contact with the ground and rolled. Skipper smugly assumed that he'd probably broken the arm he'd landed on, and took control of the wheel. He turned just in time, barely getting them away from the wall and back onto the road. Kowalski cast a look behind them and was relieved to see that the red officers had stopped to examine Officer X. As far as he was concerned, this was the last they would see of that crazy homicidal taxi driver.

Eva looked unhappy. The light on her tracking device had changed from a soft red to a deep blue, and instead of being solid, it had started to flash. Her teammates weren't particularly sure what this meant, but to her, it didn't seem to be good news. Eventually they had pulled over from a busy street downtown and stopped by the side of the road, where she stood outside and glared at the piece of machinery.

The sun was just beginning to set behind the city buildings, which made the mood significantly more ominous. Hans was beginning to wonder if his life was ironic enough that, as soon as he escaped Blowhole's captivity, Skipper would be murdered by his previous captor and the two really never would see each other again. It was a fear he'd experienced for years, but now he was so close to Skipper again… The idea that his freshly renewed hope would be so quickly crushed was devastating.

"Well, they were here." Eva muttered. "It seems like they were underground at some point, but aren't anymore."

"Underground? Like, in the sewers?" Shortfuse's lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but knew he shouldn't. "...Cool."

"So zey're probably not with Dr. Blowhole…" Hans commented in mild relief, ignoring the youngest member of the North Wind. "Where are zey now?"

Eva sighed, deflating in a very tired sort of way. "From here? About twenty minutes east, assuming we follow the speed limit."

Classified's brow lowered in annoyance. "Why, they're at least halfway to Hoboken by now!"

"Exactly." Eva replied tiredly. "And it's still rush-hour."

"We should've taken the chopper." Corporal muttered as the five of them returned to the van.

As they got in the vehicle to leave New York, all Hans could think of was how he hoped Skipper hadn't disappeared, as people sometimes did.


	23. Underground

**Chapter Twenty Three: Underground**

The first thing Julien registered, in his bleary wake, was that he was very very cold. He shuddered, and then was it that he felt how stiff and uncomfortable his joints were, particularly his shoulder. Steadily, he opened his heavy aching eyelids and gazed around. At first, all was a blur, but slowly things came into contact. He was laying on a tiled floor in a room with bright, artificial lighting. He sat up, and immediately his head rushed in disagreement with the sudden movement. A sharp pain. He must have been drugged.

Suddenly, the memories flooded back to him. The Penguin Eyes' office firm and home, kissing Skipper, the sleeping gas… Skipper. He looked around frantically, but Skipper was no where in sight. In fact, Julien was completely alone.

The room he was in was rather small, too. Three metal walls surrounded him, and then there was a thick glass one with a couple holes in it, which separated him from a room of similar 'decor'. Julien's eyes narrowed when he noticed that he wasn't as alone as he thought. On the other side of the glass was Clemson, seated in a comfortable looking chair and casually crossing his legs as he read a newspaper.

"...Clemson?" He groaned quietly. "...My head…" He ran a hand over his throbbing forehead.

His abusive boyfriend of several years glanced up from the paper, and a smirk crawled across his lips that was so vile and devious that it made Julien want to throw up on the spot. "Oh, hello your _highness_. Have a nice nap?"

He laughed, and Julien batted his eyes with an innocent pout. "Where am I?"

"Oh, don't play coy with me," Clemson snapped, his grin completely gone and replaced with a snarl of detestation. "You really thought you could get away with outing my plans to those private investigators? How stupid do you think I am?"

Part of him wanted to answer Clemson's rhetorical question and tell him just how stupid Clemson genuinely was, but he knew that above all his priorities were getting answers.

Julien dropped the dainty act and settled on glaring. "Where _am_ I?" He reiterated sternly.

"About sixty feet underground in Hoboken, New Jersey." Clemson jeered with scorn. "By the way, your boy-toy is still back in New York, probably still laying face-down in the sewers. You're completely alone."

There was that word again - _alone._ Clemson had always made a point to isolate Julien, to make him feel as though there was never a way out of his nefarious grasp. Now, it was more evident than ever that Clemson reeled in pleasure at the thought of Julien's helplessness. Never before was it as intimidating as it was now, especially the idea of Skipper being hurt. Julien's glare deepened.

"Oh yes, I know all about your little side dish. And I must say, I'm surprised you went for someone older than me! He's what, in his late thirties? That's gross." Clemson mocked. "I know plenty of younger women - or in your case, gentlemen, who would love to have a taste of Park Zoo's king of the lemurs. But I'm guessing you love the older men, don't you? Are those some daddy issues I see?"

Julien held his ground, though part of him wanted to laugh at Clemson for his cluelessness. If only Clemson knew that he'd been seeing Parker for months before they went through with this plan… Julien would have loved to see the look on his face.

Still, he only continued to scowl. "What do you plan on doing to me, all the way in the down here?"

A door that Julien couldn't see from his position on the floor opened and shut heavily. He heard the whirring of mechanical joints before Blowhole came into view, standing beside Clemson. He stared at Julien with mild disgust. His red, mechanical eye seemed to glare stronger when focused on the showboy.

"Good to see he's finally awake." Blowhole commented flippantly, before his eyes were on Clemson. "What have you told him so far?"

"Nothing much," Clemson replied simply, his glower still focused on his boyfriend. "You know, Julien, I just can't express how disappointed I am in you for betraying me like that. I thought you knew better, I really did."

"Yes," Dr. Blowhole mused. "Betrayal is a horrible thing."

He whipped a gun from his pocket and shot Clemson in the head.

It was such a fast, fluid moment that Julien didn't even scream, didn't even understand what was happening at first. Clemson didn't so much as have time to know what was about to happen before it did, and suddenly his blood and brains and fragments of his skull were splattered all over the wall and the far end of the floor. His body stayed upright for a moment, before it collapsed to the ground, rolling limply as if there had never been a soul within. Blood pooled around his open neck, catching on the edges of each tile. Clemson was dead.

Clemson was dead.

Clemson was _dead_.

Julien closed his gaping mouth and realized he was shaking. Clemson? Dead? How could it be? He hadn't loved the man, never so much as liked him and even considered his feelings for him to be hatred, but it was confounding. The man who he'd let control him for seven years was dead, lying just a few feet away from him, gone forever and never to touch Julien again, never to speak to him.

If Julien weren't so shocked, he might have smiled. If he weren't so disquieted by the sheer amount of blood coming out of Clemson's raw, wide neck, maybe he would have even thanked Dr. Blowhole for getting rid of Clemson Gidro. But he was too alarmed to do anything but stare in utter disbelief.

"Oh, don't be so surprised." Dr. Blowhole pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the small droplets of blood off of his hands, before polishing his gun and pocketing it once more. "I planned to have Savio kill both of you anyway, and he would've for a stack of hundred dollar bills and a release from prison… And then I'd have Parker kill him. The less people connected, the better. Besides, that man was a pain. You all are."

The glare returned to Julien's face. "So then, you will be killing me now too, if I am hearing you right?"

"Soon, soon." Blowhole assured him. "You still owe Parker a night, you know. I'm not sure how he got it into his head that he should be fooling around with other men, but he's done his job well for years so I don't really give a damn… I'll pay him what he wants, which in this case, is you."

Julien almost smiled. Almost. He was tempted to let Blowhole know that Parker had spent _many_ nights with him, but seeing as that was what his life was hanging onto, he kept his mouth shut on the subject and moved onto a different question.

"Why have you been doing all this then, anyway? If not for Clemson, then…?" He trailed off expectantly.

Dr. Blowhole sent him a glance that translated into pity. "Oh Julien, you poor idiotic fool. You couldn't have really thought I was doing _any_ of this for him, could you? No no, this was all a plot for _revenge…_ "

Revenge. Of course, he should have seen that coming, especially from the vindictive type like Francis Blowhole.

"Our little friend, Skipper, has been an annoyance to me for years." Blowhole began to pace, no longer looking at Julien but instead scowling at the floor that was now painted with blood. "Always asking questions he shouldn't be asking, poking his nose where he shouldn't, never just _disappearing_ … He's part of the reason why I lost all my power and merit in the CIA, you know. He didn't even have to say a word - the way he moped around and refused to go on missions anymore was enough for commander McSlade to point his finger at me and tell me that my privileges were revoked. Why? Because I made Hans disappear?"

"You? You… Made…?" Julien could hardly find his voice, and when it came out, it was in a broken whisper.

Blowhole didn't seem to hear him at all. He laughed, still ranting more to himself than to Julien by that point in time. "I got nervous - nervous that after all this time, maybe Skipper would start to think a bit too much… He was always a thinker, him and that damned Kowalski, trying to figure everything out. I thought that he might start to ask where Hans went, why no one ever really looked for him. Nigel's time in the CIA is running thin, so I thought, this would be the perfect time to act and get rid of both of them for good."

Julien was trembling violently. He thought he might vomit.

"So why not ruin Skipper's reputation, wipe him off the face of the planet like I did Hans? I didn't want him finding out that I kidnapped his partner. Didn't want him to know what I was doing, didn't want him to tell everyone and get me in more trouble… And with him and Nigel both mysteriously _disappearing_ , I'd be fine to take up my old job again, wouldn't I?" Dr. Blowhole grinned in satisfaction with his own scheme.

"This… Hans you mentioned," Julien's voice shook. "Is he… Still alive?"

Blowhole turned to his captive as if just recalling that he was there, and smiled wickedly. "Of course he is. Anyway, Julien. Count on your death by tomorrow - I'll have Parker visit you tonight."

He turned on his heel and left, leaving a very unsettled Julien Hira alone.

It had taken a bit of searching, but eventually Skipper, Kowalski, Rico, Private and Maurice had found Blowhole's elusive hideout in the outskirts of Hoboken. There were two ways in - the front door, which was heavily guarded by red officers, or the backway, which was more of an old abandoned tunnel system that would lead them deep underground through a labyrinth of passages.

Though it wasn't ideal, they ended up choosing the back. Dr. Blowhole had weapons and hundreds of red officers at his disposal. Them? They had three admittedly washed out ex-CIA agents, one innocent man with the mindset of a child, a forty five year old financial adviser, and the element of surprise.

They crept in with subtlety, but honestly, they knew that no one but them would have ventured to the old, dirty tunnels that were once part of a mine. By the time they made it far enough that they no longer could see the opening, they knew that there was no turning back - not that any of them had really considered that an option beforehand.

"Kowalski, options." Skipper demanded when their passageway split into two different tunnels.

His scientific and self-proclaimed genius surrogate brother examined both areas critically, before turning back to Skipper. "Judging by the way the railroad tracks end a few feet in, I'm guessing that the one on the right is a dead-end. We should head left."

Skipper nodded and their group followed Kowalski's educated guess. They continued in silence for a handful of minutes before Private spoke up.

"I don't suppose we could just walk out with Julien," he murmured worriedly. "What do we do once we find him?"

"In and out, like we were never here." Skipper replied. "Only take out the enemy team members if we absolutely have to. Remember, we're completely outnumbered. Once we leave, we'll contact the North Wind and have them get rid of Dr. Blowhole and his whole base for good."

Maurice's eyes fell to the ground, before he looked at Skipper with a mixture of determination and what may very well have been sadness. "Skipper… There's something you have to know about Blowhole."

Skipper turned to face him, but before he could ask what Maurice wanted to tell him, there was a loud explosion and the dirt ceiling above began to collapse.


	24. Returning The Favor

**Chapter Twenty Four: Returning the Favor**

It had taken a bit of maneuvering and some driving over rough terrain, since their location was off-road, but eventually the North Wind had found the tunnel system where Eva's tracker had indicated that Kowalski was located (and, in extension, hopefully the rest of the Penguin Eyes). By then, Hans couldn't so much as sit still, his anxiety palpable and reflected by some of the North Wind members.

They found a taxi parked outside, which Classified surmised probably had been used to get there. The cab driver was no where to be found, and though none of them said anything, they were aware that this probably meant it had been stolen. Being that it was empty, this also probably meant that they were already inside the tunnel maze. Alone, without any equipment or weaponry. This level of unprofessionalism was a decently clear sign that Skipper was leading them.

Classified turned to his team. "All right, Eva and I will scout ahead. Shortfuse, contact Nigel, tell him what's happening. Corporal, you and Hans c-"

Before he could finish his command, a loud explosion interrupted him. The ground shuddered, causing their van to creak and tremble before settling. The five of them looked to the tunnel system in shock - it was beginning to collapse in on itself from the outside. Someone had detonated part of it from the outside, and it was caving in.

"Skippar is still in zere!" Hans exclaimed in mortification, and he burst out the van door and ran outside before any of them could stop him.

"Wait, Hans-" Corporal started, but it was too late. Hans had already disappeared inside of the tunnel system.

"Oh great," Classified groaned, running a hand over his weary visage. Things were not going as planned. "Eva, contact Nigel immediately. Tell him the situation and send him our coordinates. Ask him what his orders are."

She nodded and began to type away at the integrated computer system on the wall of their van. Classified sighed; they didn't have the proper equipment for this sort of task and probably wouldn't be able to aid Skipper or Hans, unless they too wanted to endanger their lives. All he could hope for was that the two of them would be reunited and would manage to rekindle their uncanny ability to survive almost everything (internally, he accentuated the word 'almost'). If only he had the right tools and protective wear for this job...

Shortfuse was squinting out the window, into the darkness, before his eyes suddenly widened. "Look!" He pointed.

Outside the window of the van, where Shortfuse was frantically gesturing to, stood a man that was holding a detonation device. Within seconds, Corporal had bolted from the door and unleashed his strength upon the mysterious figure, apprehending him knocking the remote from his hand.

There was a bit of a struggle between them, but Corporal overpowered the much shorter man with relative ease and brought him back into the van. He really did live up to his credentials. Lucky for them, whoever it was had not pressed more than one button, which meant most of the cave was still in tact, assuming that he hadn't detonated a particularly crucial part.

"Excellent work, Corporal." Classified nodded to him snidely before he turned to the man who'd been attempting to blow up Dr. Blowhole's facilities. "Now then, who are you and what exactly were you hoping to accomplish?"

"The name's Parker," he muttered, and his eyes slid back to where he'd left his device, wanting to get it back. "And what do you think? I was gonna kill Blowhole."

Classified sent him a very unamused stare. "Ah, so this is the infamous attack-dog that Blowhole is so fond of. Yes, you have quite the name among mercenaries... Why were you trying to off your master then?"

"Master!" Parker laughed derisively. "I hate that man, always have. He likes the work I do, and I like the money he pays me. But I've had enough - he's gone too far this time, done something I'm not going to forgive this time around..."

Classified and Shortfuse exchanged a surprised and rather confused glance, before the North Wind's leader spoke up. "...How do you mean?"

Parker's smile was bitter and sardonic. "He killed someone who I didn't want to be killed, and so I was just going to return the favor… Since Blowhole loves favors, and the only one he cares about is himself, killing him seemed like the best idea."

Inside the tunnel system, the roof was collapsing due to the explosion. It crumbled above them, and Skipper pushed Maurice out of the way in the nick of time, but of course, the cave-in separated him from the rest of his group. The last he saw before cut off by the avalanche of stone was his brothers' fearful eyes. Now alone, he growled at the wall of rock and dirt that separated him and everyone else he'd come with. Dust floated around him and he stepped back, attempting not to inhale any of the debris. Just what they needed! An obnoxious setback.

"Skipper! Skipper, are you okay?" Kowalski's concerned muffled voice called to him from the other side.

"Yes, I'm fine!" He shouted back angrily. "Just - separated now, I guess… I'll find another way. I'll meet you on the surface. Try to find Julien, and don't get caught!"

"Right," Kowalski replied nervously. He was never good at leading, but he did as Skipper wanted. His voice and footsteps drifted away, along with the rest of the group, and as he left Skipper heard his fading voice comment, "...Perhaps the other tunnel wasn't a dead-end after all. Let's see what's…"

He trailed off and Skipper was left completely alone and in the dark. Just wonderful. He sighed heavily and looked around. Without Kowalski to analyze the passageways around him, it wasn't very easy to figure out which way he should go. He wandered for a bit, running into about three dead ends before he found one tunnel that seemed fruitful. Whoever said that process of elimination was a poor method?

Oh right, Kowalski had.

Well, Skipper had made it so far. All he could hope for was that Julien wasn't dead yet, though he wasn't sure why Blowhole would keep him alive any longer than necessary. The odds weren't in his favor; he knew that above all, Julien was probably already buried deep beneath the earth, never to see the light of day again. Probably tortured violently up until his final moments, as was the Blowhole method. The idea was horrific; as soon as he thinks he's found romance again for the first time in over a decade, it's viciously ripped from his hands the moment he feels as if he's taken hold of it.

He decided, to himself, that at the very least - assuming that perhaps Julien was already dead - he could subject Francis Blowhole to the most gruesome, agonizing torment possible in exchange for taking away Skipper's happiness. There was one thing that Hans had told him to remember if he'd ever died, as he had, and that was that life continues to go on. Hans had drilled that into his own mind once his parents died, and he told Skipper it was the most positive aspect of truth available to mankind. Life goes on, even if everyone around you dies.

Skipper realized, in that moment, that he hadn't followed Hans' most prophetic piece of advice. He hadn't allowed his life to go on, because he'd been so caught up in Hans' death. Eleven years he'd ignored the remaining applicable suggestion Hans had for him. And he realized, even more, that when he'd willingly kissed Julien, he'd finally allowed himself to let go. Julien was his push in the right direction. Julien was the key to letting Hans rest in peace. Julien was the ultimate sense of reason and health for Skipper, the one thing that could make him put down the bottle of scotch for good and learn how to laugh again for real.

He wouldn't let Dr. Blowhole remove his final source of happiness. If Dr. Blowhole wanted to send him down to hell, then Skipper would drag the villainous madman right down with him.

Back outside, Parker was still apprehended within the North Wind's vehicle. Though he continued to glance out the window, he made no attempt to escape and instead fiddled with his poisonous diamond rings. Corporal kept a close eye on him and made sure he didn't pull any fast moves, but Parker didn't even seem interested in leaving the comfort of their mechanically advanced van. In contrast, he actually seemed to enjoy their plush seating and air-conditioned vehicle.

Eva had just finished contacting Nigel, and though she could confirm that he'd received her message, none of them were sure whether or not he'd actually read it as he had yet to respond. It was frustrating to no end to Classified, wanting to do something but not knowing what he _could_ do, seeing as none of them felt comfortable running blindly into a caving tunnel system without equipment or orders. He needed Nigel to direct him, to help him differentiate from what was wrong or right.

"Hey so, I saw someone run in the tunnels earlier," Parker commented boredly. "He came from your van. Who was he?"

"Oh, that was agent Hans," Shortfuse replied easily.

Classified sent him a glare. "Shortfuse, you know that that's private intel. Do not give out information to the enemy."

"I wouldn't call us _enemies_ ," Parker huffed. "I'm guessing you guys aren't Blowhole's biggest fans either, and did you say… Hans? As in, CIA agent Hans, the one who supposed to have been dead for eleven years but has actually been in Blowhole's captivity?"

Classified eyed Parker in suspicion now. "...You know about all of that?"

"Of course I do. Dr. Blowhole isn't the best at keeping secrets, not from me anyway." Parker's humored expression suddenly became sullen and a bit disquieted. "...Wait. You came here for Julien, right?"

"Maybe." Classified's eyes narrowed. "Why, what do you know?"

Parker stiffened significantly and his face became a pale white. "I… Julien's dead, as far as I know. I heard a gunshot down where Blowhole was keeping him. But sending Hans in… Even if Julien _were_ alive, that'd be the craziest idea you CIA guys have ever come up with."

"Catfight, catfight!" Shortfuse grinned.

"No." Classified rejected Shortfuse's comment immediately, before he turned back to Parker in agitated seriousness. He paced forward and leaned over him in the most intimidating manner he possibly could. "Why do you say that? Hans and Julien have no connection, aside from Skipper, and I'm fairly positive that neither of them know about the other. So why?"

Parker stared up at him with the most sincere expression of astonished disgust available. "...Wow. They really do train you CIA agents to never ask questions, don't they? That's amazing. You just… Accept what you're told as if it's the truth, all the time - as long as someone with a higher rank tells you that that's how it is."

Before having met Hans, the North Wind would have vehemently objected to this statement. But now that they had, and had been exposed to the true nature of the situation and the amount of cover ups that went on behind closed doors, none of them could do much more than glare at the well-trained assassin before them. He looked as if he wanted to smile, but couldn't quite bring himself to, not with the subject matter behind what he was discussing. He shook his head with a sigh and looked back down at his rings.

"You just don't have a clue, do you?" He asked, not particularly directing the inquiry at the elite CIA team surrounding him.

"What?" Classified snapped petulantly. "Just tell us what you know!"

Parker glared up at him. "Agent Clover, the woman Hans killed eleven years ago, was Julien Hira's adoptive mother."


	25. Parker's Truth

**Chapter Twenty Five: Parker's Truth**

"Agent Clover, the woman Hans killed eleven years ago, was Julien Hira's adoptive mother."

There was a moment of silence, before Classified suddenly spoke up. His voice was angry. "And you know this how, precisely?"

Parker looked down, and suddenly, he seemed more plaintive than anything else. "I fell in love with Julien from the moment I first saw him. Never thought I could love, but he… He was something else. Clemson invited us over and I knew right away that he wasn't right for him, you know? I thought that after all this was over, I could elope with Julien, take him away from this life. We could go to my other house in Havana and just escape there…"

The North Wind all sent each other very surprised glances. Parker had a notorious reputation of being a heartless murderer who would do anything for money; the idea that he'd taken a job for the sake of love was shocking to all of them. And it seemed to surprise and sadden Parker himself.

"I couldn't see him every day, so I just decided to look into him a bit… Figure out what I could. Blowhole doesn't really trust people, but he's worked with me for so long that he doesn't even notice when I'm in his facilities or not, doesn't know when I'm using his resources. I'm not CIA, but I can do a bit of research. Julien has almost no record of existence, not really, but after a bit of digging I started to put some pieces together…"

" _You're early, darling," Julien looked to Parker through the mirror as he put in an extravagant hoop earing that extended down into a thin golden chain all the way to his shoulders before concluding with a pearl. "I thought you were saying before that you would not be being to me until ten. You know I have to be doing a show in thirty minutes?"_

 _Parker closed the window behind him and grinned. "Good to see you too, doll. There's a lot we could do in half an hour…"_

 _Julien laughed as Parker wrapped his arms around him from behind, still focused on decorating himself with the expensive jewelry that was part of his costume for the show. His smile faded slightly when Parker kissed his neck, and Parker wished to himself that he knew how to bring it back. Instead, he only helped Julien clip his necklace._

" _You went to college, didn't you?" Parker suddenly asked. "Was it here in New York?"_

 _He felt Julien stiffen beneath his touch, and he looked down suddenly. "...Yes, it was."_

" _Mm," Parker hummed as he brushed his fingers over Julien's arms. "What'd you go for?"_

 _They made eye contact through the mirror again and Julien winked, his smile having returned but no longer genuine in the slightest. "Guess."_

" _Advertising design… No. Exotic dancing. Is exotic dancing a major?" Parker pinched his side._

 _Julien laughed and waved his hand away. "Not that I am knowing of, but no. Neither of those."_

" _Then?" Parker prodded expectantly._

" _Fashion merchandising." Julien replied quietly, his smile now faint._

" _Business," Parker kissed his cheek. "I always knew you had a knack for business... I think the two of us can manage a business venture in the next thirty minutes, don't you?"_

"Julien Hira - a twenty eight year old exotic dancer at New York's Park Zoo nightclub. Four years at LIM college, two degrees. No remaining biological family, they died back when he lived in Madagascar. Got adopted by two family friends and moved to the states. But only one of them is still with him - Maurice Hira - so what happened to the other?" Parker laughed to himself tiredly.

He looked up at them expectantly. Slowly, Corporal spoke, in a very quiet voice that indicated how uncomfortable this conversation made him. "...She died."

"She disappeared," Parker corrected cynically. "Disappeared. That's what happens when you work in the CIA - you _disappear_. Agent Clover Hira, CIA agent under Francis Blowhole's division that specialized in espionage and hand-to-hand combat. She went on all the riskiest missions and was a prime target to any CIA enemies… Not to mention she was a double-agent for the Red Squirrel. Or was she a triple agent? Who knows?"

The North Wind all looked away in abject discomfort.

"She lived in Madagascar for awhile, with her boyfriend Maurice and some close family friends. One day I'm guessing one of her enemies found out where she was and tried to eliminate her. Completely sabotaged the car she was in. Only, they ended up killing just about everyone in the car but her - her, and one little ten year old boy named Julien. Got married to Maurice and moved back to the states with little Julien... She was in her prime. Seven years later, though, she's lost her edge, isn't as good as she used to be - she's gotten a bit older… And on a mission in Copenhagen-" Parker drew his finger across his neck to show what he meant.

"But why?" Classified demanded. "Why did Nigel order Hans to kill Clover?"

"I'm guessing you don't know much about Nigel's history with the Red Squirrel either, do you?" Parker sighed in a suffering manner. "That, I can be a little more sympathetic about. It's not easy to come across information on Red, not even with Blowhole's files. Nigel was around when the Red Squirrel first popped up - that was back when he and Buck Rockgut were the CIA's pride and joy. Red was so elusive, so hard to find and yet so damaging, some people weren't even sure if he really existed or if it was just an inside man. And then, on a mission to try and find him - I think it was in Moscow - Buck Rockgut just disappeared. Gone without a trace."

"What does that have to do with Clover and Hans?" Shortfuse spoke up, his brows furrowing in agitated bewilderment.

"Everything." Parker pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it up.

At first, Corporal went to take it from him, but Classified put up a hand to stop him. It didn't matter; everything in the North Wind's van was inflammable. After too many incidents with Shortfuse, it became apparent that they could only use certain materials. A cigar wouldn't be any problem for them.

 _Parker was seated in the very corner of the Park Zoo, indiscreet as he could be. He didn't exactly want to run into Clemson. Though it wasn't as if Clemson could antagonize him for watching one of Julien's late-night shows, Parker honestly just hated the guy. He was insufferable beyond all words; his loud, eager laughter, greedy smiles and over exaggerated hand gestures. He was like a snake-oil salesman, only to the extent of drugs. That, and he considered Julien his property, which wasn't something Parker liked. At all._

 _No one who knew his identity knew he was there. Not his boss, Dr. Blowhole, not his girlfriend, Doris, not even his secret lover Julien that he was currently watching. Julien was dancing sensually and slowly to a very heartfelt jazz song on stage, two large feathery fans connected to his hands as he swept them over his body, speckled in fine jewelry and make-up. Julien's eyes were shut as he slowly twisted, lying on the floor and lifting his legs in various positions._

 _Parker gazed yearningly. He'd thought that maybe just touching Julien, sleeping with him and kissing him and being able to see him every so often would be enough to satiate his romantic and carnal desires. But it wasn't enough, it was never enough. There was something he could not reach that belonged to Julien, something that he was not given access to. Julien was beyond him, beneath his fingertips but never really there. Parker could look and touch all he wanted, but no matter what he did, he could never have. He left in a rush, pushing his hat down over his eyes and hoping that Julien hadn't seen the tears._

"Nigel was incredibly paranoid - very suspicious about anyone related to the Red Squirrel. To him, it was like Red killed Buck Rockgut and - well, I'm not sure what their relationship was like, pretty sure it wasn't like Skipper and Hans', but they were _close_ \- Nigel would never forgive the Red Squirrel for that. So of course, when Dr. Blowhole goes and assigns a double-agent to spy on Red, Nigel gets really freaked out. Especially since Blowhole doesn't have the best track record, isn't the nicest guy, and constantly bad mouths Buck Rockgut's work. Not a trustable man, and I can confirm that, I've worked for him for years... Nigel gets it into his head that maybe Dr. Blowhole is actually a double agent for the Red Squirrel." Parker explained.

He watched as the North Wind mentally began to put things together, their expressions of horror growing when they realized what this meant.

"So if I'm understanding you properly," Classified blinked widely, his mortification tangible. "Nigel commanded Hans to kill Clover because of the off-chance that _maybe_ she was working for the Red Squirrel all along?"

"Now you get it," Parker grinned sharply. "Nigel thought that Clover was going to reveal something horrible or turn on them, so he made her disappear. And of course, Blowhole is furious that his top agent is killed, but he can't do anything to Nigel since Nigel is so powerful. But he _can_ hurt his lackeys - and so he captures Hans to torture him out of spite."

"Which has been going on for an entire eleven years." Eva clarified darkly.

"Nonstop. Well, until you guys freed him." Parker elaborated casually.

"You can't just decide to kill someone like that, especially with so little evidence!" Corporal protested. "That's awful!"

Parker sent him a rather alarmed glance. "How long have you all been working for the CIA, specifically?"

"The North Wind was formed about a year and a half ago." Classified sniffed pretentiously. "Why?"

Parker took a long drag from his cigar, before blowing it out the side of his mouth with the shake of a head. "You're all green if you think your bosses don't have their paranoia caps on twenty four seven. Hell, I'd be on your toes if I were you - they probably have their suspicions about you too, whether or not you've actually done anything to merit that suspicion."

"Nigel would never-" Classified began, but cut off abruptly when he realized that Parker was right. Clover had been a seasoned professional with an immaculate record, and as the story went, Nigel had ordered for her elimination without a hint of hesitation.

"You found out all this because you wanted to marry Julien?" Eva questioned when the silence drew on for a bit too long.

"The things people do for love," Parker gazed out the window wistfully as he tapped his cigar on the table. He then laughed sadly and hung his head. "Marrying him was the end-game, you know… I could have retired a happy man as long as I had him."

Shortfuse bit his lip, before he finally spoke up. "I can't take it anymore - Julien was seeing Skipper! And Clemson! And you, all at the same time! Three lovers! Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"Correction. We were all seeing Julien, not the other way around. I don't even know that Julien's capable of love - he certainly didn't love me. I knew he never would, but… I thought maybe I could get as close as I could with him. If I just took him away from all this, took him somewhere where he'd never have to deal with this life again, I thought…" Parker trailed off, his voice cracking even as he smiled plaintively and took another puff of his cigar. He then looked back to the North Wind. "There is more to the story, though…"

" _Julien?"_

 _The man who'd burrowed his way into his heart turned away from the mirror to look at him. "Hmm?"_

 _Parker found himself unable to look back and instead stared down at his lap. "Have you ever been in love before?"_

 _Julien's smile faltered. "Love?"_

 _Parker nodded. "Yeah, love."_

 _Julien stood, the motion so simple yet so elegant as he stepped away from the dresser and turned to face his paramour. Drawing a finger under Parker's chin, he smiled. "I don't fall in the loves, Parker. I make peoples believe what they want to believe."_

 _Parker swallowed thickly, knowing that if he dared blink, he would cry. "But why?"_

 _Julien took a step backward, sashayed his hips, and winked. "That's just business, baby."_


	26. Betrayal

**Chapter Twenty Six: Betrayal**

Kowalski, Rico, Private, and Maurice had returned to the tunnel that they'd previously dismissed in hopes that it was more than it seemed. For the first time Kowalski could remember, he'd actually wanted to be wrong about something. At first, unfortunately, it seemed as if he'd been correct, and that the tunnel was a dead end. But upon further inspection, he realized that it wasn't a dead end at all. Squinting at the solid rock wall, he noticed that it was unusually smooth. With a firm press, he felt it shift, and push backwards.

"By William Osler!" Kowalski exclaimed. "It's a secret tunnel within a secret tunnel?"

"That's good news for us, at least." Maurice supplied.

Kowalski pushed it back completely to reveal a staircase. Shooting a glance towards his comrades, the four of them simultaneously concurred that this was a good find. If only Skipper were with them… Kowalski tried not to think about that. Though he quarreled with his unofficial leader on a daily basis, it was a fact that they loved each other. All four of the Penguin Eyes loved each other; they were family. For years their credo had been to 'never swim alone', something Skipper had darkly coined after his escapade in Copenhagen when he'd lost Hans to the ocean. The issue was that Skipper was alone at the moment…

There Kowalski was, thinking about it. He shook his head to disperse the thoughts and followed the winding stairs alongside his brothers and Maurice. When they reached the end, it extended further into another tunnel that they followed for a solid five minutes. Though it was a short amount of time, Kowalski felt as if it would never end. It did, in the form of a wooden door with an overhanging lamp. He carefully listened, but could hear nothing on the other side.

Cautiously, he opened the door. Big mistake - he mentally cursed the soundproofed walls that Blowhole must have installed. Why did the bad guys always get the good stuff?

On the other side, dozens of red officers had been lounging in the breakroom, engaging in what was essentially the militant version of cooler talk. When Kowalski inconspicuously opened the door, all eyes were on him, Private, Rico, and Maurice. Guns were drawn within instants.

"Oh great…" He muttered.

A fight broke out. Kowalski would be the first to admit - okay, maybe the second, behind Skipper - that his fighting skills were subpar… To say the very least. He was a man of science, not hand-to-hand combat. Still, he'd picked up on a few things here and there when in the CIA, enough so to rip a gun out of a red officer's hands and incapacitate him. Maurice and Private seemed to fare relatively well themselves, despite not having had any professional training to the extent of Kowalski's knowledge. And Rico… That went without saying for. He lived for violence, indulged in it, and had been looking for a good fight for a long time. He took out most of the red officers. Just a fragment of his volatile rage was more than enough to render the entire room void of enemy activity.

"Okay," Kowalski breathed exhaustedly. "I say we split up."

"Split up? Isn't that what we're supposed to _not_ do in movies?" Private was just as winded.

Kowalski glared at him. "This isn't a movie, Private. There is a 73.8% chance that we'll be able to move with more efficiency if we split into teams, and that's not even accounting for the chance that Skipper makes an entrance."

"You just made that up." Maurice murmured.

He chose to ignore that. "Rico, you and Maurice try the east wing. I'll check the west. And Private…" Kowalski turned to him, his gaze turning concerned and a bit protective. "If my coordinates were correct - which they should be - the main computer is located just a few doors down from this room. Last one on the right. Contact Nigel, and please, try to stay safe."

"Y'gonna go 'lone?" Rico questioned, sounding unhappy about the arrangements. "...'Nd Priv'te…"

"I'll be fine, you two." Private assured them seriously, pulling them both into a hug. "You two just be safe. I'll see you on the top, all right?"

The three saluted each other, smiling in hopes that they would soon see each other again, in once piece.

The tunnel that Skipper was in seemed to go on endlessly. He was growing agitated; it seemed as if he would never get anywhere. At the very least, perhaps he could always turn around and try to dig his way out from the collapsed rocks… He sighed. This was turning out to be a bigger waste of time than expected. He needed to get to Julien, and he felt as if he wasn't getting anywhere.

He froze when he heard a scuffling noise from behind him. Turning quizzically, he saw that a part of the wall he'd just passed was… Moving. Carefully, he stalked forward, attempting to figure out what was going on. It was as if that specific part of the tunnel was actually, in fact, a door that someone was trying to open. He got ready to fight them, only to be shocked beyond all compare when the wall opened. Out of it crawled Hans.

Hans pulled himself out, before he finally took notice of Skipper and froze. The two of them stared at each other, wide eyed for a moment, before Hans spoke, his voice broken.

"S-Skippar? Is zat really you?"

Skipper thought he might faint, and he couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to step forth or step back. It didn't matter, he found, as he was frozen in place. Hans was standing right in front of him. Hans, who had been dead for eleven years. Hans, who Skipper had just gotten over. Hans.

"I must be hallucinating," Skipper whispered. "Hallucinating, or dead. You can't be here. You're… You're…"

"Skippar," Hans choked as if he was going to cry, stepping forward and reaching out. "It's me. I'm here now… I'm-"

He reached out and touched Skipper's face. His hand was warm, very real, very soft to the touch. Skipper immediately leaned into the touch, gasping softly as he realized what this meant. He felt his heartbeat quicken, his pulse race. He felt the world move through him, a plethora of thoughts all flooding into his head at once.

"Alive?" He breathed. "How…"

"Oh Skippar," Hans shut his eyes. He stepped forward and rested his forehead against Skipper's. "Nothing matters, now zat ve are togezer again…"

Maurice and Rico had edged their way into a room. Unlike Private, they didn't have a specific room to go to, and unlike Kowalski, they hadn't studied the layout of the place. This distinct disadvantage was probably why they were in a group of two - that, and Kowalski probably didn't trust that Maurice could fend for himself. Not against red officers, anyway.

As soon as they entered, Maurice paled noticeably. Sitting in a chair and reading a book was Dr. Blowhole himself, whom they'd just unwillingly confronted. Blowhole looked up in mild shock, before he slowly set his book to the side.

"Well, well, well." He sneered. "Skipper's little friends… Come to save the day, have you?"

The moment he reached for his gun, Rico attacked.

Private had to poke his head into a few different rooms, all of which were thankfully unoccupied, before he found the right one. He sighed in relief when he found the main computer room that Kowalski had been talking about; it was surprisingly empty, just a large computer at the end of the room. No red officers in sight, Blowhole no where to be seen. The computer had just been left completely unguarded. What was most odd, however, was that there was a message playing, hindered slightly by static as it emanated from the speakers. Private must have been the first one to have heard it. A familiar voice echoed from the computer-

"Ten eighty seven, Blowhole, ten thirteen immediately. Come in, Blowhole, I repeat, come in. Ten eighty seven ten thirteen."

Private stepped forth in confusion. "...Uncle Nigel?"

Kowalski was rather alarmed by how idiotic the red officers could be. He simply asked one where they had been keeping Julien, and received a complete relation of directions. How that got past them, he had no idea, but he was in no way ungrateful. Perhaps all one needed to do was to seem as if they belonged…

Either way, Julien was still alive, which was something that he could sigh in relief about. He'd followed the red officer's directions down an elevator and a staircase, through an extremely unnecessary and convoluted path, before he finally found Dr. Blowhole's prisoner.

"Julien, I'm here to rescue you." He explained the moment he saw Julien, laying on the ground with his back facing him.

Julien slowly turned to face him, his eyes red from having cried. "Oh, Kowalski, it is good to be seeing you. You must press that button on the other side of the walls…"

Kowalski did as told, and Julien had been correct. The solid glass wall separating them began to ascend like a garage door, allowing Julien to sprint on out. He released a tired sigh when he was freed, sending Kowalski a thankful look. He grabbed a bag from the chair, which Kowalski had recognized as the same bag he'd taken with him to the Penguin Eyes office the night he'd left Park Zoo.

"Where's Skipper?" He asked suddenly.

"Still in the tunnels. We got separated by a cave-in, but he should be fine." Kowalski replied as he began towards the stairs, inwardly pleased that Julien's primary concern was Skipper. He was such a good match-maker.

"Kowalski."

"Hmm?" He turned, only for Julien to practically leap forward and strike him in the jaw.

Kowalski almost immediately blacked out. The last thing he saw before falling into unconsciousness was Julien staring down at him. Julien leaned down and took the gun that Kowalski had confiscated from the red officers earlier, pocketing it for himself. Before he left, he sent one last glance down at the unconscious man.

"I am being very sorry, Kowalski," he murmured. "But it had to be done."

Hans pulled Skipper into an embrace, and Skipper finally got it through his head that this was indeed real. He hugged Hans tightly, trying not to weep as he basked in the warmth of his long lost partner. He squeezed his eyes shut and released a shuddering breath. This wasn't a dream, this wasn't some drunken stupor he'd thrown himself into after too many bottles of alcohol.

He still smelled, after all this time and separation, like the sweet ocean water with a beguiling hint of cherry. He still felt so lithe beneath Skipper's stockier form. Still felt so warm. Hans was real, Hans was with him, and Hans was very much alive. Skipper could feel his heartbeat, beneath their clothes. He could feel Hans' breaths, Hans life surging through him.

Hans was alive…

"Where have you been all this time?" Skipper suddenly stepped back to stare at his partner in bewilderment, though his hands still clutched at Hans' arms. "What- what happened to you, in Copenhagen-? I thought… All this time, I thought you were..."

Hans smiled at him sweetly.

Neither Skipper nor Hans knew it, but Julien was racing towards them, frantically at that point. He was running down the tunnel halls with as much speed as he could muster. He clutched the gun in hand, noting the weight. Two bullets. Lucky for him, he only needed one.

Hans said nothing, but instead, his hand slowly edged towards his pocket. Skipper watched in frozen fascination and astonishment when Hans pulled out a gun. He found himself unable to move when Hans lifted his arm slowly, and aimed the gun at Skipper.

The only thing he could register at that moment was pure confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Oh Skippar," Hans laughed. "The things zat people do for love…"


	27. Technically, Missing In Action

**Chapter Twenty Seven: Technically, Missing In Action**

Step one. Acknowledge that no one is going to come and save you.

Hans had a lot of problems with this step. After Blowhole kidnapped him, he'd suffered through the agonizing torture of sensory deprivation, almost-hope, irregular schedules, and several other forms of abuse. For the first several years of his captivity, he'd spent his time waiting for Skipper to magically pop up and save him from Dr. Blowhole's villainous clutches. For Skipper to come and take him away from the horrors of torture, of isolation. Afterall, they were Hans and Skipper, the two partners that were inseparable; Hans and Skipper, the duo that could take on any mission. Hans and Skipper, the perfect couple. Nothing could keep them apart.

But Skipper never did show up, and neither did anyone else from the CIA who he thought would care about him. Not even Nigel gave a damn about Hans' pain. It wasn't until Francis Blowhole mentioned that he had 'disappeared' that he knew he was completely alone. Disappeared - as in dead. Or, technically, missing in action. Just like Manfredi and Johnson. Just like Buck Rockgut. Just like Clover.

He finally came to the conclusion that he was on his own. No one was coming for him. He was alone - just him, and Dr. Blowhole. Him and his loneliness. Him and his isolation. Him.

Step two. Liberate yourself.

This step came naturally, after a little while. No one was going to come and save him, right? So why should he just sit around and wait for nothing? Why should he just let himself wither away in Blowhole's abuse? No, he was more than that. He was Hans, one of Nigel's best two operatives. He was the cream of the crop, the best of the best. And he realized, he didn't have to deal with any of this. No, he was worth more, and he could escape. And he would.

Step three. Enact phase one; find a weak spot in the enemy defenses.

Blowhole's lackeys, the red officers that sometimes called themselves 'the lobsters' were incompetent beyond all compare. Hans knew why Blowhole had them; they were expendable, easy to control through fear. But this was because they were stupid. And because they were stupid, Hans could use their stupidity to his advantage.

"Hey, were you at the Park Zoo last night?" Stupid guard on the left asked stupid guard on the right. "Man, I have such an achin' hangover. Can't remember a thing."

"Yeah, I was there." Stupid guard on the right gushed. "You really don't remember anything? There was a huge fight last night, and Clemson had to kick three guys out!"

"Clemson, ain't that the guy that owns the place?" Stupid guard on the left questioned as he scratched his head. "I heard he used to work for the Hoboken mafia back in the day."

"Yeah, but it's all hush hush." Stupid guard on the right stupidly responded. "If any of the Hoboken mafia found out about it, they'd kill him dead. Apparently he made a huge mess on the way out… He's got a real good bounty on his head." And bingo, the weak spot was right there.

Step four. Find an ally. Or, make one.

It was no secret that Dr. Blowhole played favorites when he wanted a job done. There was a mercenary for hire that everyone knew of as Blowhole's favorite, and his name was Parker. The two of them had been working together for years.

When Blowhole wanted something done, he had just the right amount of money to get Parker for the job. And Parker always accepted. But Hans knew Blowhole before this. He'd worked under Blowhole before and he knew that working for him was the biggest pain in hell. And he knew that after so many years of working for him, Parker was probably fed up.

Hans shouted in surprise when the door opened, only to see a very alarmed red officer standing there with a tray of food to give to the prisoner. Hans looked up from where he'd covered himself, staring at the dumb guard in feigned fright.

"Mein god," Hans exclaimed. "I thought you vere Parker! He's not here yet? Dr. Blowhole said zat he vas going to be here to torture me today."

The guard gasped and ran back up the stairs to go and retrieve Parker under the impression that Blowhole's orders hadn't been carried through. And Hans waited, smugly, for his new ally to visit.

It didn't take more than an hour for Parker to agree with Hans that the two of them both needed to be free from Blowhole's grasp. Parker hated working for him - he loved the money and how it had made him a rich man, but Blowhole was beyond insufferable. The two concurred to work together to free each other, but they knew that they couldn't do it directly. No; it had to be carefully planned, or else they would never escape. Hans assured him that he had it under control.

Step five. Enact phase two; Use the weak spot to your advantage.

Parker hadn't quite understood the roundabout nature of Hans' plan at first, but Hans assured him that it would work. He had Parker contact an old ex-CIA friend of his that he and Skipper had trained with. She'd run off before she could ever really become anything, so she'd never been taken out. Her name was Lola, she was involved with the Hoboken mafia. And she was very excited to hear that Clemson had been found and could be taken out; after all, how _dare_ he betray the Hoboken family like he had?

After Lola found out where Clemson was, Hans knew that she and the rest of the Hoboken gangs would come for him. And, although Lola was a relatively quiet girl who only responded with 'yes' or 'no', her meat-head boyfriend wasn't. Parker informed Hans that word had gotten around pretty fast about the Hoboken mafia coming for Clemson. Clemson was scared out of his mind, just like Hans had wanted.

Step six. Set everything up just right.

Parker had investigated on Skipper's whereabouts. He told Hans that Skipper had become a private investigator for a self made company called Penguin Eyes, and that Blowhole had built up a vehement detestation for his work. They were constantly on the brink of a confrontation, and Hans knew that they both needed something to really push them over the edge. Something that would lead to Skipper finding him. Just one little push.

He'd heard the red officers mention Park Zoo a _lot_ , which meant that Dr. Blowhole was probably one of it's biggest customers. And who would the coward Clemson go to but the corrupt New York police chief that he was acquainted with to help him escape from the mafia? Especially when this police chief happened to be his most influential customer. Clemson would beg for Blowhole's help to weasel him out. Blowhole would come up with a very dramatic plan and enlist Parker to help make it happen. And Parker would.

Hans made sure that Parker had casually slipped the idea into Blowhole's head that he should help out and get revenge on Skipper at the same time. Dr. Blowhole would never help anyone on his own, he would do it for the sake of putting Skipper's private investigation firm out of business. One little push, and Hans could be free.

Step seven. Wait.

"You know it's your fault you're here,"Dr. Blowhole taunted, not at all bothered by the fact that he could see his captive's ribcage. He instead settled for a devious grin. "If it hadn't been for what you did, all those years ago..."

"Someone will come for me soon." Murmured Hans' somber, broken voice. He'd gotten very used to Blowhole's blame game. Was Francis running out of torture methods? "Soon…"

"You've been more hopeful lately. That's nice," Blowhole nodded sardonically. "But I promise you, no one is coming. I've made _sure_ of it."

"We'll see," whispered back the voice of his captive as he crumbled onto the floor and stared yearningly at the wall, as if he could morph through it if he stared long enough.

Once Dr. Blowhole left, he laughed to himself about how idiotic he was. He had long since recovered from the broken hopelessness that Dr. Blowhole thought he still faced. No, he was more than that now, and Dr. Blowhole would soon see just how right he was. All he had to do was wait for his plan to come into action; he knew it would take several months, but those months were nothing in contrast to the decade that he'd spent in captivity.

And so he waited. And waited. And waited. Parker would come to talk to him about how it was going, but for the first few months, it was just that. Waiting. Until suddenly, they decided that it was time to enact the plan - for Clemson to fake his death.

Step eight. Watch the sparks fly.

He couldn't exactly watch them, anyway, not from his room in solitary confinement. But Parker told him every detail about how he'd shot Clemson's bullet proof vest and how Blowhole had let the crime scene go. It was so painfully obvious that Skipper and his team were sure to pick up that something was wrong. Skipper was intuitive like that, and Parker had told him that he had Kowalski working for him too. Kowalski wasn't nearly as bright as he gave himself credit for, but even he was smart enough to pick up on how awry things were in Clemson's crime scene.

He and Parker split a bottle of wine that night, carefully making sure that no one walked in on the assassin and the prisoner celebrating a job well done. They laughed, and talked, and Hans felt the first taste of freedom just waiting for him.

Not long after that Parker explained to Hans that Julien, the Park Zoo's main dancer and Clemson's long-time suffering boyfriend, had finally come into contact with Skipper. It gave Hans goosebumps. Not a week after that, Dr. Blowhole confirmed that Julien outed the plan to Skipper, and that he was going to pursue him. This meant one thing to Hans; in roughly twenty four hours, he would be free.

Step nine. Enact phase three; reappear.

He'd honestly been sleeping when the North Wind had shown up, but his unconsciousness helped his 'helpless victim' act a great deal. They had babied him, bathing him, feeding him, clothing him. The man who'd interrogated him - if one could even call it an interrogation - was especially soft and easygoing. Hans knew he'd plucked directly at the right heartstrings, particularly detailing his relationship with Skipper.

Oh, how poor Hans had loved his sweet Skippsy with all his dear little heart, how sad and broken he was that he had been in captivity for eleven years and tortured. Poor, poor Hans. All that sweet, innocent, hurt little Hans wanted was to be reunited with his precious darling Skipper that he so loved and hadn't stopped loving for eleven years. Right?

Wrong. Hans hadn't loved Skipper in a long time, not really. Skipper hadn't come for Hans when he needed it. Skipper hadn't helped Hans, Skipper never cared. Skipper didn't deserve his love. Skipper was the one who made it out and he never thought to look for his missing partner that had thought they were in love. Hans had sacrificed his life for Skipper, and Skipper never even thought to do the same. So Hans would do it for him.

And it was nice, and easy, how the North Wind so willingly helped him with his plan. Either the CIA wasn't what it used to be, or Skipper and Hans had been something really special, because the North Wind was incredibly impressionable. They easily agreed to everything he said, easily took him as the victim - which he was - and they so easily trusted him.

Thanks to himself - not Skipper, not anyone else - Hans was no longer dead, or disappeared, or technically missing in action. Which left him to the last step.

Step ten. Revenge.


	28. Secrets and Sacrifices

**Chapter Twenty Eight: Secrets and Sacrifices**

Maurice was in the corner, heaving with deep sharp breaths as he watched Rico stand over Blowhole's defeated form. Dr. Blowhole was glaring up at him in humiliated anger at having been defeated by someone who was not only younger but who had also not worked for the CIA in years. Dr. Blowhole was a seasoned officer who'd experienced countless missions of the highest risks. And Rico - as far as he was concerned, Rico was just some guy.

Both of them were scuffed up from the struggle; Blowhole had a large cut on his forehead and his shirt had been ripped to reveal several large bruises. That, and Rico had torn his prosthetic legs clean off. Rico himself was in a similar shape, but the difference was that he had been underestimated by his enemy and was the one left standing.

"Y're gettin' old," Rico sneered. "'n sloppy."

"And you're a ticking time bomb." Blowhole snapped, before he groaned as Rico picked him up. "What are you going to do with me now?"

"'f it was up ta me, 'd havya go _kaboom_." Rico admonished darkly.

"But it isn't, is it? It's up to Nigel." Blowhole supplied with mild relief. The idea that Rico had been holding back the entire time was a bit concerning.

"No." Maurice denied, before he gave a surprisingly harsh and almost evil grin. "It's up to McSlade."

Blowhole was even more mortified at the concept of the CIA commander deciding his punishment and, essentially, fate. He already knew that he would probably be imprisoned for life in solitary confinement, if not executed for his crimes altogether. Somehow he found himself hoping for the latter, if Hans' agony was any indication of which was better… Hans. What would they do about Hans, when they found out-?

McSlade had known that he'd taken Hans captive eleven years ago, but he'd also thought that Blowhole had executed Hans and that was that. It was more ethical than him having kept Hans alive just to toy with him and use him as an outlet for his frequent spells of anger. Some of his crimes were one thing, but having tortured Hans for this long...

Rico forced him to call down his men, not that they would have really been much help had they seen him in such a compromising - and embarrassing - position of defeat. Rico carried him over his shoulder while whistling a tune and Maurice followed behind. They took him right back up to the surface, where four CIA agents, an apprehended Parker, Private, and Kowalski were waiting.

Parker didn't seem very surprised to see him, instead staring at him with rapt amusement, something that Francis resented. He'd known that Parker was never particularly fond of him, but he'd always thought that Parker would side with him over the enemy. Unlike Blowhole, Parker wasn't restrained, and was instead sitting comfortably while smoking a cigar.

Private himself had located Kowalski quickly after he'd left the computer room and helped him back up to the surface. According to Kowalski, it was Julien who'd knocked him out. But Private had a hard time believing that after all this, Julien would really try to hurt him. Aside from an aching headache, Kowalski's injury seemed superficial. Not that he didn't grumble and complain about it any less. He had never been knocked out by a blow before, and still none of them knew where Julien - or Skipper, for that matter - was.

The North Wind helped push Dr. Blowhole into the back of the van before helping to treat Rico's relatively small wounds, though he didn't seem to even notice as they dabbed away at his cuts, instead grinning wildly when he saw Shortfuse's rocket-launcher in the corner. Shortfuse made it a point to stand directly in front of it.

"Did you contact Nigel?" Kowalski asked Private.

"We already did that." Classified quickly commented, attempting to take credit.

Kowalski sent him a glare so intense that Classified quickly quieted down.

"Well, yes and no," Private murmured quietly after a moment, staring down at his lap. He'd been rather quiet and solemn ever since he'd left the computer room. "I… Well, it was more like he contacted me."

Kowalski's brow furrowed. "How did he know that you'd be here?"

Private's fists tightened, and then he sent Kowalski the most agonizingly betrayed glance he could. "He didn't."

"Pr'vate…?" Rico stepped forth to place a calloused yet comforting hand on his shoulder.

The youngest member of the Penguin Eyes sniffled softly, wiping his reddening nose as big innocent tears began to well up in his eyes. "I-I found out something quite terrible about my uncle Nigel."

"Ah, so this is the little nephew that Nigel's so protective of." Dr. Blowhole rose a brow in dour disposition. "He told you everything, didn't he?"

Private nodded sadly. 

"Everything what, exactly?" Classified demanded. He was tired of all these mind games, of all these deep reveals. This was supposed to be a simple mission, and yet there they were, uprooting everything he'd believed in.

"Nigel had been funding Blowhole all along - these last eleven years - just to keep him quiet about what he'd found out... Nigel had known that Blowhole would eventually discover what Clover would try to tell him, it was only a matter of time." Private supplied with tangible sorrow.

"Yes," Blowhole confirmed. "Nigel's time is running thin in the CIA, he's getting older and he's run up his contract… It won't be long before he won't have access to money anymore and will no longer be of use to me."

"That's why you did all this _now?_ " Kowalski muttered. "What exactly did you find out that was so incriminating?"

"Something enough to make agent Clover and agent Hans disappear, enough to ruin lives..." Corporal pitched in, sounding just as hurt as Private. Nigel was, after all, his commanding officer.

Private and Blowhole shared a look, Private's vulnerable and Blowhole's cold and apathetic. Private buried his face into his hands and shuddered, on the verge of weeping at the discovery of his uncle's corrupt behavior and cover-up. In the end, it was Blowhole who told them the truth, smirking in a bitter, defeated manner.

"Buck Rockgut was the Red Squirrel."

Back in the tunnel, Skipper was staring at Hans in shock as Hans finished explaining his deep, convoluted plot for revenge. Everything had worked entirely in his favor, and there Skipper was, having played directly into his hands. That, and he was on the other side of Hans' gun with no way of defending himself. He was trapped. He had imagined, over the years, somehow encountering Hans again over the years by chance. A hug, some kisses, something more. Never this. Never anger.

This was by no means the same Hans he'd fallen in love with, not by a long shot - this was a different man altogether, and suddenly, Skipper felt as if he didn't recognize the person aiming at him at all. This was a stranger, and in return, he too was a stranger to this version of Hans. Hans no longer knew him, and he no longer knew Hans.

With the gun trained on his head, Skipper couldn't think of a single way out of this; Hans was always the better shot than he was. He'd be at a disadvantage, even if he did have a gun, which he didn't. Just attacking head on would be hard, since Hans would shoot immediately, and beyond that, Skipper wasn't sure if he had it in him _to_ attack Hans. Despite all that had happened, he did still love him.

Hans glanced down at the watch on his wrist that he'd no doubt gotten from the North Wind when they'd attempted to recuperate him. "By now, Dr. Blowhole should be up on ze surface with ze North Vind. I bet zat they've arrested him, and maybe Parker too. Do you know vat zat means, _Skippsy?_ "

The once endearing nickname was spat with such unbridled hatred that Skipper couldn't help but flinch. He didn't respond verbally, only taking a step back. Hans countered by cocking the gun, and Skipper froze once more.

"It means zat I only have one thing left to take care of." Hans explained, narrowing his eyes. "And zat is you."

Skipper raised both of his hands to try and show that he wasn't going to attack, before he took a step forward. Hans' brows only furrowed, and his fingers tightened around the trigger. Hans was too far gone, but there was nothing Skipper could do but try and appeal to the man he once knew. Perhaps, if he dove deep enough, there was a flicker of the old Hans still lingering within. The Hans he fell in love with.

Feeling his heart burn, Skipper spoke. "Hans, please, I-"

His long-lost partner and first love snarled and pistol whipped him, using such force that it actually threw Skipper to the side slightly. His face burned, blood running down over his lips and chin like a faucet. He lifted his fingers to feel the blood that was gushing from his nose from the blow, staring down at the red that was now coating his hands. Hans glared at him in complete and utter detestation as he shook the gun to remove the blood dripping from the barrel.

"You never gave a damn about me!" Hans shouted as he aimed his gun again. "You made me think zat you did, and zen you never- you never gave a damn! I vaited for you for _years!_ You're a fraud, Skippar, just like Nigel, just like Blowhole, just like everyone in zis damned business!"

"Hans," Skipper felt more liquid running down his face, but these were tears and not blood. He hadn't actually cried, not in a long time, but this… All of this, it was too much for him.

"Don't." Hans warned.

Skipper shook his head, reaching up to Hans with a trembling hand. "You've got it all wrong. I've always loved you, you mean the world to me… I never got over-"

"SHUT UP!" Hans screamed, and he landed a kick to Skipper's abdomen with such force that it knocked him onto his back and winded him. "Shut up, shut up!"

Skipper coughed slightly and sat back up, inching away slightly as he stared at Hans. No, this wasn't Hans at all. This was a demon, a ghost of a man who'd taken control of the person he'd once loved. There was no hope of ever salvaging their old love. In that way, perhaps Dr. Blowhole had won. Hans had disappeared.

"If you ever loved me," Hans' voice was quiet and eerie. "You would have saved me. But you didn't - you vere too late."

Skipper trembled and he sat up to hold his hand out again, only to have Hans point the gun just a foot or so away from his forehead. He stared up in pained disturbance. The closest thing Hans felt for pity towards him was actually indifference, and that burned him all the more. Hans hated Skipper, had for years. He'd formulated a dastardly plot to not only escape isolation, but also to be the downfall of Skipper and Blowhole - the two people whom he'd seen as the cause for his unrelenting torment.

And Skipper couldn't help but understand that Hans was, perhaps, right in his own way. Skipper could have done more, could have done more than beg Nigel to search the ocean. Could have done more than quit, could have done more than drown himself in alcohol night after night. He'd failed Hans. And Hans knew it. Suddenly, he felt as if he deserved the bullet that Hans was so willing to lodge within his skull.

"You know, Skippar," Hans suddenly mused. "You vere right all along, to think zat I died all those years ago."

Skipper squeezed his eyes shut. A gunshot rang throughout the tunnels.


	29. Love

**Chapter Twenty Nine: Love**

Skipper opened his eyes, and realized that he hadn't been shot at all.

Julien emerged from the corner of the tunnel, grimly lowering his gun. Skipper stared wide eyed, and he followed where Julien had shot; his suspicions were proven correct when he saw Hans laying on the ground, grasping his abdomen with a pained wince. Dark red blood was pooling through his fingers and above his shirt, dripping down and forming a puddle on the ground. He looked down at the wound and hissed loudly.

"Julien…?" Skipper questioned, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Hello Hans." Julien's tone was like ice.

"I don't believe we've met," Hans coughed. There was more blood.

"We haven't." Julien approached, grasping his gun tightly.

Hans reached for his own gun, but Julien immediately kicked it away. It skidded into the darkness, and Hans glared up at him with intensity unmatched. Skipper felt frozen. He'd never frozen up on the battlefield, but he belatedly realized he was probably experiencing shock. If Kowalski were there, maybe he could have clarified, but then, Skipper's thoughts weren't at all on Kowalski. Instead, he was helpless to watch as the scene before him played out.

"Zen why did you shoot me?" Hans snapped. "You don't even know me."

Julien laughed, as if this was funny. "Did you know I got two degrees?"

Hans glanced to Skipper, wondering what was going on, but Skipper was just as clueless as he was.

"One in fashion merchandising," Julien re-aimed his gun at Hans. "And one in research."

"What does all zis have to do vis me?" Hans snarled, squeezing at his wound to try and stop the bleeding. "I have no idea who you are!"

Julien turned to Skipper. His stare was still cold. "I didn't know that you had loved him, not until a few days ago."

Skipper wasn't sure what to say to that. "I…"

Without any further prompting, he explained. "When I was just a little child, all of my family died in a car accident. Well, not an accident - someone was trying to kill someone who was in the car with us. She and I both did the surviving, and so she adopted me, along with Maurice. Then, for reasons I didn't know at the time, we moved to America. I found out later it was being because her work was very… Demanding. She had to travel quite the lot, but I never thought of it, not until after she died."

Skipper began to realize that Julien wasn't just talking about any job that required travel. The clues - other than what Julien had just said - were all there, mostly from snippets of things Maurice had said or done.

" _...Excuse me, but aren't you a bit… Young to be Julien's father?"_

" _I'm not his biological dad, no. Just a family friend who..._ Adopted _him."_

" _...Where did you learn how to bust down a door like that?"_

" _My wife. Before she died."_

" _I know that Hans was arrested for killin' Clover."_

Skipper gasped just as the realization hit him. "Your - your adoptive mom was…"

Julien turned to him, and his face was more heartbreaking than any expression Skipper could have ever mentally conjured up. His eyes became distant as he continued his story. "Hans did the killing of my adopted mother, many years ago… She said that she was going to go away for a little while, on a business trip to a place in Denmark. I asked if I could be going, but of course, she told me that I couldn't. Me and Maurice had to stay home, and so we did that. But then we heard on the news about this sinking ship… And she never did the returning home. Instead, we… We got a letter to tell us that she had disappeared into the ocean, but people do not just _disappear_ , do they?"

"Copenhagen, Denmark?" Skipper asked warily; his question was almost inaudible. He already knew the answer.

Julien nodded.

"You can't prove zat vas me!" Hans snapped.

Julien pulled a drawstring bag from his back, which Skipper immediately recognized as the only thing he'd taken from Park Zoo when he'd come to the Penguin Eyes' office. From it he pulled a voice recorder; the device seemed to have been scratched and worn over time, but Julien was not deterred. Hans significantly paled when he pressed the play button.

" _I, Hans, killed Clover. I confess, just… Keep Skipper out of zis."_

"Believe me now?" Julien tilted his head.

"How did you get zat?" Hans ground his teeth as Skipper gazed up with wide, horrified eyes.

"Maurice. He would not stop, not until he found out who killed her. The things that people will be doing for love, you know? I needed to know too. That is being why," Julien turned his head to the side wistfully, tracing his fingers over the wall of the cave. "I found out about everything…"

"Everything?" Hans sneered, disbelieving.

Julien turned to him, apathetic. "Everything."

Hans became silent at Julien's sheer confidence, suddenly unsure of himself. Julien didn't seem to be playing around, and Skipper watched as Hans' fingers twitched around the blood that was surfacing. If he didn't get help soon, he would definitely die. And still, Skipper was frozen. He couldn't move, could hardly breathe. There were too many emotions.

Julien smiled, and there was something very dismal about it. His hands returned to the drawstring bag, carelessly dropping the voice recording to the ground as if it no longer mattered. Julien opened the bag once more, and pulled out a thick handful of pictures. Suddenly, his eyes were on Skipper, intense and plaintive enough that Skipper felt his heart surge.

"I've loved you for years, Skipper." He confessed as he threw the pictures to the ground, one by one. "For _years_."

Skipper stared in disbelief as each paper fell to the ground. There must have been at least forty, and all of them were pictures of him. Some were mugshots, most were taken from a distance or far off angles, and some were drawings. The great majority of the photos were blurry or pixelated, and many seemed as if they'd been pictures of other pictures. He was surprised that Julien actually recognized him in all of them, as for several, he'd been in disguise. He could tell that they'd been taken over a period of years, as Julien had implied, being that they were worn and of varying quality.

The illustrations that Julien had drawn were of incredible detail, and Skipper could tell just from the soft lighting and delicate attention to his features that they had been rendered with fondness. Even though Julien said it, his art showed it. He loved Skipper, and had loved him for a very long time. Skipper honestly didn't know what to say.

"You see, it was _you_ ," Julien elaborated, and his words were full of warm tenderness, almost desperate for Skipper to know the truth that he'd hidden for so long. "It was because of you that my mother was avenged… If not for you, then Hans would have been free. You are being the reason he confessed, and so when I heard, I had to find out who this Skipper he mentioned was… And I found you."

"So zen you stalked him?" Hans scoffed.

Julien peered down at Skipper despairingly. "I knew that there was nothing I could be doing about my feelings. As long as Clemson lived, I would never be able to… And besides that, what could I be saying? You never knew me. You never..."

"You," Hans snarled. "You vere Clemson's little toy? Parker said zat you vere an airhead! He told me zat you vere a nobody!"

Julien turned to Hans, and once again, his face morphed into coldness. "Parker lied."

Hans looked as if, had he not been clinging to his bullet wound and basically incapacitated, that he would have leapt up from his position on the floor and strangled Julien. Skipper was half inclined to believe he might do so anyway, regardless of the loss of blood and the bullet embedded in his flesh. Julien sensed this, but didn't seem to mind.

He pointed his gun at Hans again. "I am betting that you feel sorry for yourself, don't you? That you got punished for doing your job... A victim, right? You don't care about the lives that you had ruined when you did the things that you had done."

"Your sweet momma lady vas a killer, too!" Hans snarled. "She ruined ze lives, too!"

"Yes." Julien agreed. "But she also saved them. She did what she could be doing to save the most lives, not to hurt them. She cared about the lives of the innocent, of the people who needed the most help... What did you care about, Hans? Power?"

"No! Shut up!" Hans shouted.

"You knew that you were next in line, didn't you? Tell me, who was it that did the blowing up of the building in Shanghei while Manfredi and Johnson were still inside? It couldn't have been Skipper, since the mission files - which my mother had - said that his detonation remote never had access to that part of the building."

"Shut up!" Hans repeated, this time angrier.

"Who submitted a form to be Nigel's successor?" Julien's finger tightened around the trigger. "Who attempted to bribe his way to a promotion with all of the minister of open-faced sandwiches' business profits? Who personally went to commander McSlade to be telling him that he was above of everyone else in his class, and that he would take them all out to prove it?"

"You can't prove any of zis!" Hans denied.

Julien didn't relent. "And who, Hans, submitted a formal request to work only on solo-missions as a way to prove his worth, abandoning his partner that he apparently _loved?_ "

"SHUT UP!" Hans screamed this time.

"Hans…" Skipper choked on his words. "You-"

"I did love you." Hans interrupted, so quiet that he almost could not be heard. "I loved you more zan anyzing in ze whole world, Skippar. But you vere dragging me down, and I knew zat my love for you… It vas going to be ze death of me."

Skipper stared down at him. Hans had been right all along. He should have gotten as far away from Skipper when he could. Look at where staying his partner had gotten him… Tortured for eleven years, broken beyond all compare, laying in a puddle of his own blood. Eleven years ago, they had been Hans and Skipper, the duo that could take on any mission. And yet, in the end, Skipper made it. Hans didn't.

Hans looked to Julien, and for a moment, there was almost empathy in his previously loathing gaze. "It vill be ze death of you, too, Julien."

"No," Julien shook his head. "Just you."

"Maybe." Hans murmured, with surprising lament. He looked to Skipper again, and for the first time, it seemed as if he began to regret everything. "Skippar, I…"

Skipper kneeled down beside him, and he wondered if Hans had ever really stopped loving him at all. Hans was pale as a sheet, breathing heavily. He'd lost too much blood; though Julien's bullet hadn't hit anything vital, he'd still shot with the intention to kill. Hans would be gone within seconds, and there was nothing Skipper could do. At that point, he wasn't sure that there was anything he would do, even if given the chance. Nothing between him and Hans could ever be patched up after all this. The only thing left to do was to move on, and Hans knew it. He'd accepted it, just as Skipper had. He was ready for death.

Hans smiled. "...Goodnight, Skippar."

Skipper reached out to touch his face, but fell short, and allowed his hand to drop back to his side. "Sweet dreams, Hans."

With that, Hans shut his eyes, and was finally at peace.


	30. Skipper and Julien

**Chapter Thirty: Skipper and Julien**

Private was seated on one of the barstools, sipping a non-alcoholic piña colada while actively talking with a new waitress. Her name was Cupid; she was young, somewhere around Private's age, and had been meant to replace Doris who had mysteriously quit without explanation. Kowalski was seated beside the two of them, grumbling to himself as he enjoyed some imported chocolates and wondered why Doris had left. Not far away, Rico was trying to smooth talk Marlene, who found his interest in her more amusing than anything else.

Park Zoo was lively that evening; the atmosphere had been lifted significantly ever since Maurice took ownership. With showgirls bouncing to and fro and showboys following suit, the air was thick with smoke and perfume and the potent scent of wine. The lights flashed excitedly, accentuating Julien's bright amber eyes as he danced on stage in gold satin harem pants, two deep red silk ribbons that wrapped around his chest like a vest, matching jewels over his arms and neck and waist, and large golden ostrich feathers. The extravagance was not lost on the Penguin Eyes, who had met there with Nigel.

Nigel was there to collect the North Wind, along with Dr. Blowhole and Parker; the two criminals would spend a reasonable amount of time imprisoned, if not for the rest of their lives. That, and Skipper wanted to talk to him about, well, everything. Skipper was seated at one of the tables in the far corner with Nigel, and for once, he was drinking water and not scotch. Nigel, on the other hand, was swirling some chardonnay in a glass, clearly disquieted by all that Skipper had so alarmingly discovered within the last handful of days.

"You knew, didn't you?" Skipper asked bleakly. "You knew that Hans was still alive, all this time."

Pensively, Nigel nodded. "You're right about that, ol' chap. I've known what Blowhole was up to this whole time… And I knew that he would've done it when I assigned Hans that damned mission. It was a failure from the start."

"Then why did you do it?" Skipper couldn't help but growl. He never spoke out of line to a superior (excluding Dr. Blowhole, of course), but he couldn't help but feel the anger bubble within.

"At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing." Nigel sighed ruefully. "I was willing to sacrifice one of my top agents for someone else's secrets, all because he was like a brother to me."

The things people did for love.

"You mean Buck Rockgut, don't you?" Skipper looked down.

Nigel stared off into the crowd for a moment, before he answered. "Yes. I know he was your hero, but… He wasn't the perfect man you thought he was. There was a reason I only introduced him to Private. I didn't want him to discourage you."

Skipper couldn't help but furrow his brows at the thought. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Nigel seemed to want to look everywhere but at Skipper. Finally, he placed his hand next to Skipper's. "Compare our skin tones."

Skipper glanced down at their hands. Nigel's was pasty, almost sheetlike, whereas Skipper's was a dark chestnut. It took him an extra moment to understand what Nigel was getting at. "...He was racist?"

"Extremely." Nigel nodded as he swirled his wine. "You're, what, from the Sioux tribe? I know you say that that's as american as it gets, but my partner didn't see it that way. Kowalski is half polish and half chinese, and from what I've heard, Rico is full on japanese. Buck Rockgut hated that the world was changing, there was a lot he didn't understand and there was a lot he wanted to hide. You can imagine how he felt about working with Clover, a black woman who was just as good as he was at everything."

Skipper felt his face heating up as he listened to this. Normally he'd break someone's nose if they attempted to belittle him for his race, but to imagine Buck Rockgut doing so only made him shudder with unpleasantry. "What was he…"

He took a long sip of his chardonnay. "What was he hiding? Everything, really. But mostly, the fact that he was the Red Squirrel."

Skipper glared. He'd heard this from Kowalski and Private, too, but he hadn't believed them. Now, there was little doubt within his mind that what they said was true. Still, it bewildered him, gave him a headache. How could Buck Rockgut, CIA agent number one, best of the best, also be the Red Squirrel, CIA enemy number one, worst of the worst? It didn't make any sense.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't." Nigel smiled, but there was a sad edge to it. "Neither did I, not for the longest time. I can't say I do now, not completely. But Buck - he had his own agenda, his own things he wanted done that he never explained to anyone because of his rampant paranoia. Not even yours truly. So he disappeared underground, told me he was going to a place called 'Grrfurjiclestan', not that it exists… And I let him go, because I was young and naive enough to trust him."

"But he betrayed you," Skipper finished.

"Yes, he did make quite the mess of things," Nigel laughed as if he really wanted to cry. "But I've protected him all these years… Even from Blowhole. I don't know why I kept it up for so long. I'm getting older now, though… Well, I've been saying that for years. I knew that partnerships like Buck and mine were doomed to failure, which is why I let everything happen between you and Hans. He would have stabbed you in the back anyway, no matter how much he loved you, so I just made him disappear. I hadn't known it would affect you the way it did, but I suppose I should have seen that coming."

"Doomed to failure? I wouldn't have believed you a week ago, but after everything that's happened… I guess there was nothing that could have been done." Skipper looked up to the stage where Julien was dancing.

Nigel followed his eyes, before he smiled gently. "No, but it all worked out, didn't it? I got to make sure that my little nephew was safe from everything, and you found something new."

Skipper looked at his glass of water. "I don't know if I'll ever completely get over Hans."

"You might not think so now." Nigel replied simply. "But that's the beauty of the world - it moves, whether you want it to or not. You might as well move with it, right?"

He realized, in that moment, that Nigel was right. He had stayed, for so long, trapped in Hans' disappearance that he hadn't experienced the last eleven years. He'd be damned if he let himself stagnate for the next eleven. Not when Julien was in the picture, someone that loved him unconditionally, someone that he couldn't help but love back. He still had Kowalski, Rico, and Private, didn't he? He had his family, he had his love. And suddenly, he felt as if he didn't need anything else.

He'd heard before that you only fall in love once, but Skipper now knew that this was never true, if only for the fact that he would prove it wrong.

"What about you?" Skipper turned to Nigel. "What are you going to do now? You're not going to keep lying for Buck Rockgut, are you?"

"Buck Rockgut actually died a couple years ago." Nigel shrugged. "Like I said, Skipper, I'm getting older. Too old for this business, too old for all these lies and double crosses and secrets... My contract is running thin, anyway; I'm going to retire, maybe move off to some remote place… Not sure where yet."

"Retire?" Skipper rose a brow. He honestly couldn't imagine Nigel, one of the CIA's best, retiring. But he supposed that it was, in fact, time. Nigel looked more weary than ever, and after finding the truth, he could easily see why. "Then who's gonna take your place?"

"I've met this brilliant young woman named Kitka. She's a lot like you, actually, which is probably why I like her so much. By now she has seven years of experience... I think she's ready to take over." Nigel took another sip of his wine. "Speaking of… Francis Blowhole was the New York police chief, you know. Now that he's gone, well, this place _will_ be needing a new one."

Skipper blinked in surprise. "You mean…"

"Yes. I could pull a few strings, and it would certainly pay better than being a private investigator and working on commission." Nigel grinned. "I have some wonderful local positions open for Kowalski and Rico, too… There's a need for a scientific professor at NYU, and as for Rico, I have a friend who is in need of a demolition expert for construction purposes. Don't worry - I'll make sure you all still have time for your own adventures, too."

"I think you'll have to take that up with them. As for me, I…" Skipper paused as the lights dimmed.

Julien's show had finished, but instead of exiting the stage through the back as he usually did, he instead jumped off and hurriedly made his way to Skipper. There was a bright smile on his face, as he was clearly excited to see his newly found boyfriend. Skipper couldn't help the smile that took over his expression as well when he watched Julien weave his way through the crowd. Julien laughed in excitement as he practically dove into Skipper's arms, embracing him tightly. He leaned back to kiss him on the cheek.

"You know Nigel, I'll have to get back to you on that." Skipper winked at his old boss.

"I'll see to it that you do." Nigel smirked as he stood, pushing in his chair. "I'll leave you young gents to your partying and love. Ta, Skipper. I'll be in touch."

Skipper saluted him as he walked off, before turning to Julien and pecked his lips. Julien wrapped his arms around Skipper's neck and half-sat in his lap, giggling. Skipper couldn't remember ever feeling so happy in his life. They were young(ish) and they had eachother, who could ask for more?

"You know who you are reminding me of?" Julien queried as he drew circles over Skipper's chest with his index finger.

Skipper smiled. "Who?"

"Superman," Julien laughed.

"You know…" Skipper mused. "I've always been more of a Batman kinda guy."

"Batman Skipper?" Julien hummed thoughtfully, before his smile brightened. "I like it."

Skipper swept Julien's yellow feathers out of his face and back into his headdress, having been misplaced from his dancing. "What do you say we get out of here for a little bit, dollface?"

Julien's smile brightened further, if such a notion was even possible. "Oh, Skipper! You mean like a vacation?"

Another brief kiss on the lips. "I think we could both use one, don't you? After everything that's happened."

"Yes!" Julien exclaimed, kissing Skipper back. "Yes, I would absolutely be loving that! Where should we go?"

Skipper grinned. "How does Monte Carlo sound?"

 **END**


End file.
